Snapshots
by HigherMagic
Summary: A series of one-shots following the meeting, courting and eventual love between an Angel doctor named Castiel and an Angel teacher by the name of Dean. In no particular order. (Moved from the Book of Eros by request).
1. I Got A Bad Case Of Lovin' You

**Title:** I Got A Bad Case Of Lovin' You  
**Author: **highermagic  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Pairings/Characters:** Dean/Castiel  
**Spoilers:** End of 6x22  
**Warnings:** self lubrication, excessive oil-gland!kink, wing!kink, heat!kink  
**Word Count: **~3,000  
**Summary: **Dean can't help but hide a smirk as he waltzes into the doctor's office. This particular wing of the hospital is for mixed patients – there are humans as well as Angels in the ward today, and he gets his fair share of curious eyes when he walks in and sits down in one of the ugly blue plastic chairs. He closes his eyes, smiling to himself when he hears a few Angels sniff the air curiously.  
**Notes:** Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. Written for this prompt at the deancaskink meme. Hope you like it, angel_kink!

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Dean can't help but hide a smirk as he waltzes into the doctor's office. This particular wing of the hospital is for mixed patients – there are humans as well as Angels in the ward today, and he gets his fair share of curious eyes when he walks in and sits down in one of the ugly blue plastic chairs. He closes his eyes, smiling to himself when he hears a few Angels sniff the air curiously.

There's a light flush high on his cheeks, and a small amount of sweat forms in his hairline, running down the nape of his neck. That's the only outward sign that Dean is going into heat at all.

That, and his soaked wings. He's only wearing a t-shirt, and the back of it is completely plastered to him like a second skin, the white material going see-through against the muscles in his back. Dean slouches low in his seat, spreading his legs out so that the other Angels – those that are watching with barely disguised interest, God, he can feel the heat of their gazes on him – can see his body, and admire the stretch of his legs encased in almost-too-tight, light colored jeans, and the flatness of his stomach and the muscles in his arms and shoulders, the curve of his neck.

The scent of pheromones in the room is almost stifling – Dean knows it's his fault. It makes his lips curve upward slightly in pleasure, eyes going glassy and half-lidded as he feels his body react to the pheromones in the air. The humans live on, oblivious to the complex Angel interactions going on around them.

Dean, as a submissive male, is designed to call potential mates to him in Heat. However, the scent of another Angel lingers on him, thick and heady like he's coated in oil. It keeps the other Angels at bay, for now, but Dean knows – notes it with a soft laugh of pleasure – that if his mate doesn't sense him soon and hurry his ass up, there will be other suitors coming to proposition him, mated or not.

The thought sends a small tremor of excitement through Dean.

"Goodbye, Mister Adler, and don't forget to apply that twice daily." The low, rough voice draws Dean's attention, and the young Angel's head snaps up, nostrils flaring in an attempt to scent the air. Almost immediately, a figure rounds the corner into the waiting room, and stops dead.

Dean watches with no small amount of amusement as Castiel's eyes go completely blown – in almost no time at all, the only scent that Dean can smell is Castiel's; overpowering, eliminating every other Angel's mating call in the room. He stands, leaving a damp spot where he had been seated, and smiles at Castiel.

"I'm here for my appointment, Doctor Novak," he says, taking a casual step forward, flashing teeth in his smile. His wings rustle gently behind him, fanning the air casually, and blowing his scent towards Castiel.

The older Angel's nostrils flare wide, his expression twitching slightly into something just a little bit feral. "Of course," he says stiffly, taking a small step to one side and gesturing back behind himself. "This way, Mister Winchester."

The way he says his name sends a shiver up Dean's spine. The flush on his cheeks becomes more pronounced and the young Angel dips his gaze, lashes dropping coyly over his vivid green eyes before he takes a step forward. He can practically _taste_ the other Angels' jealousy as he brushes one of his oil-slick wings against the front of Castiel's open lab coat.

The other Angel practically walks _on_ him while Dean makes his way slowly to Castiel's office. The trek isn't far, but he draws it out, pretending to trip up so that Castiel, as close as he is, stumbles right into him, and Dean bites the inside of his cheek when he feels his mate's erection jutting into the back of his thigh. It damn near makes him fall to his knees right in the corridor and beg to be fucked, and Dean shivers, wings spreading out slightly in invitation, when he feels a whole new layer of slick and oil leak from him.

Dean enters the office, dark green eyes casting around to see how everything is so neatly put in place. He licks his lips – he's not sure what the urge is; maybe to create the organized chaos of a nest, or just because seeing everything fucking _perpendicular_ to each other ruffles his feathers like nothing else – but he just wants to make a _mess_ of this office, to cover it in his oils, mark it and everything inside of it as _his_ territory.

"Dean." The short, sharp growl of his name has the younger Angel's feathers rustling softly, the sound muted underneath the rapid pants coming from Dean's parted mouth and Castiel's ragged growls behind him.

He…God, he wants to flatten himself to the ground for his mate. He wants to bare his belly and his oil glands and just let Castiel go crazy – he wants to _fuck_, to have Castiel so deep inside of his ass Dean can taste him in his throat, ramming hard and fast like he does when Dean's just come and he's all lazy and pliant and Castiel can just have at him.

There a soft gasp behind him, and then Castiel is suddenly there. Strong arms encircle Dean's waste, Castiel flattening himself into the space between his young mate's eagerly spread wings, and Dean's knees buckle – they both sink to the ground, Dean spreading his knees out so that he can sit more on Castiel's lap, feel more of his mate against his back and wings. Castiel's arms lock across his chest, under his arms, one fist laying over his heart, the other hand flattened over the bulge in his damp jeans.

"What do you mean," Castiel whispers, his stubble a rough scratch across the nape of Dean's neck, his lips chapped and dry, his voice low and gravelly, "coming here, to the place where I work, smelling like you do?" His arms tighten, pulling him back more firmly, and Dean – God, he just _goes_, goes because he needs his dominant's touch, needs his orders, needs to please him totally and completely.

When he's thinking more normally, Dean can give Castiel a run for his money in the personality department – he's stubborn as a mule and fights about _everything_. Something about the heat, though, makes him nothing more than a willing slave to Castiel's will, desperate to be bent and used for his dominant's pleasure.

"You should be at home," Castiel growls more, baring his teeth against the back of Dean's neck and nipping slightly at the thin, delicate skin, "thinking about me, fucking yourself and keeping yourself locked away until I get home."

Dean whines, his wings flaring up and backwards to meet Castiel's. The older Angel's wings are huge – a deep ,deep royal blue with black on the edges of every feather so he looks like a mottling of light and shade, the carpal joints arching high over his head and tips barely touching the ground. Castiel's wings are meant for power, compared to Dean's more delicate hawk-like wings, meant for speed. The younger Angel's tawny provides a light contrast to the jet blue, feathers, sticky and wet from oil, meshing together and rubbing to create a thick nest to cover and shield them from prying eyes or danger.

"Please," Dean whispers, rocking his hips back in a teasing grind against his dominant's cock, throwing his head back against Castiel's shoulder. His beautiful eyes are glassy and unfocused in pleasure and need, his full lips parted and panting, wet t-shirt slicked to his back and almost completely see-through.

"You, Dean Winchester," Castiel whispers, shaking his head and thrusting forward, dry, against Dean's wet jeans, "are a siren." Gently, his palms flatten over Dean's chest, running down, and then he finds the hem of his mate's damp t-shirt, tugging gently until Dean gets with the program and helps him remove it over his head, flattening his wings to take it completely off until Dean's chest is bare to Castiel's caress. "Let me see you, Dean."

The urge to flatten to his belly becomes irresistible, and Dean whines, folding forward so his forearms are braced against the cold linoleum floor, fists clenched, knees spread out as far as he can get them. His wings flare up, high over his body and out, giving Castiel all the access to the sensitive underside he can.

Castiel groans, falling forward, his hands grabbing onto Dean's hips, biting at Dean's ass through his jeans where his scent is strongest, and Dean moans softly, head dropping, shoulders hunched in pleasure as he tries to keep himself upright and prevent himself doing a face-plant on the floor.

"So _fuckin' _pretty," Castiel growls, his fingertips drawing patterns in the fine sheen of slick oil coating Dean's back, making his muscles shine. His oil smells of woodsy incense and spices, of sugar cane and leather. Unable to resist, Castiel kneels up, his belly pressing against Dean's ass and pushing his mate further forward, so his body is one long, smooth stretch for Castiel to explore, and lowers his mouth to the sensitive dip of his mate's spine. Dean _howls_, sound silenced when one of Castiel's oil-slicked hands fly to his mouth, sticking two fingers between his lips and making him suck them to silence him. Dean moans again, this time muffled, a more broken sound, his wings flaring up and flattening to the ground in submission when Castiel's fall over his.

The older Angel's other hand slides up Dean's back, the glide so slick and easy because of how wet Dean is getting for him, and Dean's trembling by the time Castiel's questing fingers bury themselves in the thick downy feathers, all ruffled and sticking together and surely driving Dean wild with frustration. His eager, nimble fingers find the small nub, steadily leaking oil, and he presses down, laying a bite to Dean's back at the same time he curls his fingers down Dean's throat, and deeper into Dean's wing.

His young mate – his young, responsive, so eager-to-please-and-wet-with-heat mate – convulses underneath him, letting out a broken little whimpering sound at the combination of so many sensations at once. Dean's eyes clench tightly shut and his wings shudder, drawing in tight to his back to try and shut Castiel out.

The older Angel growls, biting at Dean's back again. _"No_," he snarls, forceful, demanding, and Dean whines again. There are tears in his eyes when Castiel presses down on his oil gland once more, oil spurting out, thick and honey-scented, down his back. He's leaking so much that he's kneeling in a slowly-forming puddle on the floor.

"This is what happens when you tease, Dean," Castiel murmurs, pushing his fingers more deeply into Dean's mouth and then withdrawing them, fucking Dean's mouth with his fingers while his other hand steadily milks Dean's oil gland. "This is what happens when you can't be patient – when you have to come flaunt yourself like the greedy little slut you are."

Dean's body convulses again, the young Angel making another desperate sound. Castiel thinks he hears words, muffled around his fingers. "What was that, baby?" Castiel murmurs, pulling his fingers out and instead gripping Dean's ribcage in his saliva-slick hand, gathering up more oil from Dean's other wing on his fingers.

"Please, Cas," Dean whines, dipping his shoulders and arching his back, his arms stretching out in front of him so he can brace himself, rolling his ass back against Castiel's erection that he can feel on the back of his thigh, where his body clenches so hungrily to be filled. "Please, so sorry, couldn't wait – _please_." Dean whines, choking, shaking his head. "Don't leave me like this. I _need_ -."

"I know what you need, and when," Castiel growls, kneeling up and fumbling with oil-slick hands at his pants, enough to free his cock and stroke it once, hard. Dean moans at the sharp scent of precome that bursts through the air between them. Then, Castiel's hands are at Dean's own jeans, impatiently snapping he button and pulling the zip down, enough so that he can peel Dean's wet clothes from his ass. He's so _wet_ for Castiel, skin so wet with oil and natural lubricant that Castiel can barely hold on when he grabs Dean's hips, instead hooking his fingers in the bunch of material around his thighs.

He leans forward, his cock riding the crease between Dean's cheeks and smirks at his mate's low, desperate whine.

"Please, please, please…" Dean keeps begging as Castiel rocks his hips against Dean's, the older Angel gently nuzzling between his mate's sensitive wings, nipping and licking at the soft, downy feathers. "Cas, please! God _damn it_, I -."

"Shh," the black-winged Angel replies, licking at the bite mark he left behind on Dean's back, and rocks back, letting the head rest against Dean's eager hole. He pushes forward and Dean's body parts so willingly, accepting him so graciously inside of the tight_, wet_ heat.

Dean _mewls_, wings flaring up high against Castiel's, rubbing their feathers the wrong way, and when Castiel bites down at one of his wings, one hand moving to grab at Dean's unmilked gland, the young Angel comes, his cock still trapped in his jeans so he ends up coming in his pants like a teenager. His body clenches deliciously around Castiel, so tight and welcoming and _needing_, greedy with his need, that the Angel slams forward without a thought, hilting himself inside of his young mate in one smooth thrust.

_"Cas_," Dean gasps, unable, it seems, to say more than his lover's name. _"Cas_, God…"

Castiel chuckles, the hand still hooked in Dean's jeans moving to his other wing, and he begins a steady rhythm inside of his mate, pressing against the gland so Dean's body is incredibly slick with sweat and oil and lubricant and saliva. He looks decadent, looks like a whore, a slave to Castiel's desires, so perfect and pretty.

The older Angel pulls out, suddenly, and Dean _snarls_ at him, angry at being denied.

Castiel laughs, swatting his mate on the ass. "Roll over, Dean. Let me see you." In a flash Dean's on his back, wings splayed out, wrists on the floor by his head like an offering to Castiel, and the Angel smiles, cupping Dean's ass and lifting his hips to slide right back in.

Dean moans, throwing his head back. He can feel himself harden again, the effects of his heat meaning his recovery time is about the same as his lasting time – that is, almost nothing. "_Fuck_, Cas, harder, _please_, I can take it."

"I know you can," Castiel replies, biting at Dean's throat, mouthing at his jaw, licking his lips – marking him in any way he can as his hands find the sensitive underside of Dean's wings again. The glands are almost a regular size now, no longer swollen with oil and each touch must be almost painful, Dean's body so over sensitized and strung out, but Dean still arches into the touch, still so needy after already having come.

Selfish with his own orgasm now, Castiel picks up the pace inside of his young lover, biting into Dean's mouth to muffle both their sounds as he chases his orgasm. He barely lasts long at all – usually doesn't in the first stages of Dean's heat – and soon he's coming, stilling inside of Dean with a groan and filling the young Angel up with his seed. Dean stiffens, feathers ruffled, breath coming in a choked gasp as he feels Castiel filling him, and then, almost like a rug being swept from under his feet, he collapses, his heat abating for now.

Castiel smiles, breathing heavily as he recovers, and leans down for another kiss. It's slow, this time, and lazy – meeting and parting and meeting again in a press of lips and tongues, Dean's hand cupping his mate's jaw to keep him close, wet fingers knotting in Castiel's hair. They both look a mess, barely undressed and covered in all sorts of bodily fluids, but, Dean thinks as Castiel rolls his hips, spilling one last time inside of him before pulling out, it was totally worth it.

Dean smiles lazily up at Castiel as the older Angel sits back, still trying to catch his breath, and Dean rolls onto his stomach, spreading his wings out lazily, letting his mate get a good look at what he's done to Dean.

"Doctor, Doctor, gimme the news," he sings halfheartedly, choking off when he hears Castiel growl and feels fingers spreading him open, before there's a wet tongue between his cheeks, and Dean mewls, pressing his cheek against the floor, hands reaching back and bracing himself against the ground as he arches his hips up, loving the feeling of Castiel's tongue deep inside of him.

Castiel rumbles, licking the last of his come and Dean's slick from the outside of Dean's hole, and presses a kiss to the slight dip in the small of Dean's back, before he leans up and flattens himself over his mate. His wings spread out, possessive and claiming, over Dean's wings and he nuzzles into the nape of his young mate's neck, pressing a kiss there.

Dean smiles, folding his forearms under his cheek. "Lemme guess," he says lightly, "you're cancelling all the rest of your appointments today."

Castiel's warm laughter does things to the pit of Dean's stomach, and the young Angel flushes when he feels warmth start to spread all through him again. "Don't I always?" he replies, combing a hand through Dean's sweat-slicked hair, and turns his face to one side to kiss him again. Dean moans softly, rolling his hips back, whimpering when he feels Castiel hard again, cock pressed against his ass.

"Please," he whispers, desperate to feel his dominant deep inside of him again, and moans when Castiel obliges, sliding back inside of Dean's loosened, pliant body.

"Anything you wish," Castiel replies with a soft growl.


	2. Bend, Break, Snap

**Title: **Bend, Break, Snap  
**Author:** HigherMagic  
**Pairing(s): **Dean/Castiel**  
Rating:** NC-17  
**Word Count: **~2,000**  
Warnings:** wing!kink, oil-gland!kind, self lubrication  
**Summary:** His entire body is on fire – everything feels like pins sticking into his skin; the sheets are soaked and caking and sticking to his damp wings, heavy with oil and sweat, and his body feels like it's about to burst into flames.  
**Notes: **Unbeta'd.

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His entire body is on fire – everything feels like pins sticking into his skin; the sheets are soaked and caking and sticking to his damp wings, heavy with oil and sweat, and his body feels like it's about to burst into flames.

Eyes glazed and unfocused blink upwards at the ceiling, mouth open and panting in what feels like a fruitless effort to drag air into starved lungs – his wrists ache from where he's been pulling at his restraints, desperate to rut, to fuck, _needing_ to satisfy the burning emptiness in his body.

His mouth is so dry but every other part of him is wet, sweaty, soaking, slick from his body seeping into the bedsheets, into the air – it reeks in here, of unclaimed Angel and heat and a begging cry of want. The windows aren't open – the dominant Angel doesn't dare leave his young mate exposed like that – and the heat in the room is stifling. He feels like he can't breathe.

There are tears of frustration and desperation in his eyes, leaking down the sides of his face. He needs so badly it feels like he's going to die.

A rustle of feathers captures his attention and he turns his head to one side, trying his best to focus on the bright blue eyes and dark wings of his mate. "_Cas_," Dean gasps, almost no voice left to him now from his begging and pleading. The Heat had hit him almost six hours ago and he's trembling with need now. "Cas, please…"

Castiel cocks his head to one side, lips pursed out in thought as he looks at his mate. Dean's wrists are rubbed raw from his ties, keeping the Angel down on the bed, his wings ruffled and stained with oil, and his chest and face are red from arousal and need. His cock, hand and flushed, lay on his stomach, a shiny metal cock-ring closed around the base keeping Dean locked in.

Dean has harnesses around his wings, too, to stop him rubbing his oil glands too raw against his own skin. They'd learned that could happen the hard way.

"Not yet," Castiel whispers in reply, barely too loud to hear, and Dean practically screams in frustration, a broken sob falling from his lips as he arches his hips, his very scent calling out to Castiel, to mate and take his Angel and make him feel good and make him scream, knot him, breed him – everything Castiel's own body is burning to do.

But however much he wants it, the sight of Dean in the throes of his Heat is something he doesn't get to see often, and he is determined to enjoy it.

"You're gorgeous, you know that?" he whispers, to no one in particular, not even sure if Dean can hear him or is listening, as he takes a step towards the bed, finds Dean looking at him, grassy eyes unfocused, his entire body tense like he's trying to throw himself at Castiel. "So fucking beautiful, and that's even before you're writhing on my cock, begging for my knot." Dean whimpers at the word, eyes rolling back in his head, head tilting back to expose his throat, wings flaring wide. "That's what you want, isn't it, baby? Want my knot?"

"_Cas_." It's a broken name, now, spilling from Dean's mouth, probably just about all that he can say at this point, and the Angel struggles against his bindings again, bruising his wrists and his ankles in an attempt to rip his way free and get to his mate. "Cas." A growl, now, a low threat without much heat as Dean's eyes flare open and lock onto the other Angel's, teeth bared, snarl rumbling in his chest.

Castiel hums, smiling to himself, and kneels down on the bed. He's still fully clothed, his cock pushing up against the material of his work slacks, because he had to go to work and the last time Dean was in heat while he was a work the young Angel had managed to ruin his entire office and render it unusable for about a week after.

"You know why I had to," he says, thinking of that day, reaching out with one hand to splay wide across Dean's heaving chest, and the younger Angel lets out a soft, broken sound of want, threat gone, eyes begging now. "Can't let you out of the house like this."

_"Cas_." It's not a disagreement – Dean doesn't want to argue. He just _needs_. In what little room he has, he spreads his legs wider in invitation, hips rising, tilting for a better angle, eyes desperate. "Please, Cas, please!"

The older Angel hums again, tilting his head to one side, and lets his hand slide down, gentle wrapping around the cock-ring on Dean and sliding it off, to accompany the whimper of distress the Angel lets out. Then, he slides his fingers back further, sinks them into the tight, wet heat of Dean's slicked hole.

Dean cries out, loud and desperate, thrashing as much as he can against his restraints.

"Cas!"

"You're so wet, Dean," he whispers, like he doesn't hear, breathes deep the scent of his mate's wing oil and slick and sinks his fingers in deeper, crooks them up until he finds the spot that's just like Dean's oil glands and presses against it mercilessly, making Dean choke and shudder. "So unbelievably wet. My poor baby, I bet I could just sink right into you, couldn't I? You'd just take it like a desperate little whore, wouldn't you?"

"Please," Dean whispers, eyes wide. There's no volume to his voice anymore.

"Hold still, Dean," Castiel whispers, as he reaches down to untie Dean's ankles, stretching his legs out and rubbing the sore joints lightly between warm, gentle fingers, but Dean's shaking so much and Castiel isn't even sure he's being heard. "I'm going to give you what you need, baby, okay?"

A small hitch of breath is the only acknowledgement Castiel gets, as he kneels between Dean's spread legs, leans forward and takes Dean's cock all the way down his throat.

Dean's strangled cry is all the warning Castiel gets before he feels the warm splash of come on his tongue – Dean's orgasm comes fast, the Angel strung out on six hours of pheromones and such a sudden outlet, and Castiel hums, sucking him down happily, tasting Dean's Heat on his skin, in his come, as he sinks two of his fingers back into his mate, fucking him through it, making Dean shake and his thighs weakly clutch at Castiel's head, heels digging into the joints of his wings to keep him down, keep him still and _there_ before the sensation gets too painful and Dean is left panting and wanting again.

Castiel hums, licking Dean through the last of his orgasm, and lets his cock slip from his mouth, planting a kiss to Dean's stomach, up his heaving chest, only stopping when he reaches his mouth. Dean's eyes are still glazed and unfocused, his mouth open, gaping. "Feeling better, sweetheart?" he asks, stroking a hand through Dean's hair, smiling wide, and the submissive Angel's eyes lock onto him, finally, narrowing in accusation.

"You know what I really want," he grits out, voice almost not there anymore, low and rough like he's just the one that had a cock down his throat, and Castiel's smile grows. "Cas -." Dean cuts off when Castiel's fingers withdraw, hands clenching into fists in his restraints, wrists rolling. "You know what I want. Come _on_."

Castiel tilts his head to one side again, eyes dark in thought. "Hmm…" And Dean's already letting out this little groan of frustration, eyes rolling back and swallowing hard. "Why don't you…" He let his hands trail up, deftly pulling at the knots keeping Dean's wrists in place, freeing them, and he takes them in hand, gently rubbing his thumbs against the sore bruises. "…show me how much you want it, baby?"

It takes Dean's heat-addled brain a second, but then suddenly he's up, wings violent, caging Castiel in with his wings as he shoves his mate down, baring his teeth against the older Angel's mouth, kissing him hard, and his fingers are tearing at Castiel's work slacks just enough to get his cock out, and then it's Castiel's turn to roll his eyes back, gritting his teeth and grunting hard as he's suddenly enveloped in Dean's tight heat, his mate shuddering and moaning like this is the best fucking thing he's ever felt, rutting his hips down and Castiel can feel his knot swelling already and they've barely gotten started.

"Come on," Dean demands, fingers clawing at Castiel's wings, at his shirt and coat, almost ripping at the fabric in his frenzy. "Come _on, _you son of a bitch."

And Castiel snarls right back at him, hooking Dean's thighs and rolling them both around and if Dean hurts his wings crushing them under his weight he gives no sign of feeling or caring around it, and he wraps his legs tight around Castiel's waist, practically howling in satisfaction when the dominant Angel's hands find his oil glands, press hard, milking the drained glands viciously just to hear Dean whimper and tilt his head back in submission and Castiel can't stop himself biting down on his mate's neck, pressing his hips flush against Dean's ass, rutting in until he feels his knot slide in and swell so large that he has no hope of pulling back out, and so he stills, suddenly, not wanting to hurt Dean, and shudders, feeling his orgasm rip through him like Dean's hands through his clothes.

"_Fuck_," Dean hisses, entire body going lax as he feels Castiel's seed finally cool the fires of his Heat, eyes fluttering closed as he sighs and relaxes, letting his legs fall back to the bed, and sighed heavily. "Fuck, Cas, took you fucking long enough."

Castiel laughs, tiredly, in no mood to answer back. Dean's body is still clenching deliciously around his knot and he knows, now that he's in Dean he's probably not coming back out for the foreseeable future. "Can't help it, baby," he replies, "you're just too pretty when you need me so bad."

"You're a fucking asshole," Dean bites back, but softly, forgiving, stroking his wet fingers through Castiel's wings and lifting his own tired and shaking wings up, plastering Castiel's with his mating oil. "What took you so long? I thought you'd be back sooner."

"Mm, code," Castiel replies, nuzzling into his mate's sweaty neck, kissing there. "Couldn't leave – had to stay behind to make sure he was gonna be okay."

A pause. "Is he?" Dean asks, and Castiel can't help but smile at the fact that even fucked out and strung out on mating pheromones Dean would still take time to ask about a patient who'd nearly died today.

Castiel smiles a little. "Yes, baby, he's gonna be fine."

"Good." A shift, then, a clench of Dean's body around Castiel's swollen knot, and the dominant Angel hisses again, pleasure licking up his spine, making his wings flare in a dominant claim before driving back down to meet his mate's, mark him in return even as his mouth opens wide to sink into Dean's flushed skin. "Mm, _fuck_, Cas, come on."

The only response he gets is to thrust a little deeper into Dean, lids fluttering when he feels his knot start to deflate, his seed and Dean's slick making Dean so wet, dirty-soaked and welcoming. Yeah, he's ready for another round too.


	3. You'll See

**Title: **You'll See  
**Author:** HigherMagic  
**Pairing(s): **Dean/Castiel**  
Rating:** NC-17  
**Word Count: **~1200 (SORRY IT'S SO SHORT)**  
Warnings:** cameras, Angel!Dean  
**Summary:** Dean was absolutely gorgeous, but he didn't see it. So Castiel tries to make him see it.  
**Notes: **IT'S AMANI'S BIRTHDAY SEND HER LOVE. She wanted Angels and cameras so here we go. I didn't beta it. I should really do that.

* * *

Dean was absolutely gorgeous.

Anyone with half a brain could see that – the young Angel was fit, vibrant, genuinely a good person, and had the most beautiful eyes Castiel had ever seen. The older Angel – if he was any good at writing – could wax poetic about how perfect his lips were, how it seemed like they fit together as puzzle pieces when Dean would wrap his legs around Castiel and lie back while they mated. Castiel could sing ballads about the throes of his mate in Heat, about his golden-brown wings, his hair, and his hands. Anything and everything about him.

But Dean didn't see it. He flushed and ducked his head away from any attempt at flirting, wings fanning the air shyly, downcast. He didn't understand why Angels would kill or die to look upon him, why Castiel would wake up ten minutes before his mate every day just to watch him sleep. He didn't understand why Castiel refused to allow any untoward attention toward his mate – refused to let other dominant Angels get too close, puffed up his feathers and leased a snarl that sent them packing.

He didn't understand just how beautiful he was. It was downright tragic.

So Castiel was going to change that.

Words, he had no real skill with – the written language didn't come to him easily and he had no real voice to speak of to sing. But what he _was_ good at was seeing beauty from behind the lens of a camera. He could take something as mundane as the park outside their house and transform it into a work of art to rival great masterpieces of older times.

He'd been thinking about it all day, setting up their bedroom for just the right lighting – blinds half-drawn so no one would see unless they tried very hard to look, extra exposure for the corners, bright white sheets that would make the colors of Dean's wings shimmer with sunlight.

He was nervous, but when Dean came home it seemed to melt away, as he drew his mate into a kiss and wrapped his wings tight around Dean, pulling him in. The mesh of their feathers together could be a poem all in itself, the soft drag of Dean's softer feathers against Castiel's own coarser, older ones, how the brown and gold in Dean's stood out so brilliantly against Castiel's black and dark blue.

"Hello, Dean," he murmured into the softness of his mate's hair, affection warming his Grace so much that he was sure Dean could feel it, and the other Angel hummed, burying his face into Castiel's neck, breathing deep.

"Hey, Cas," he replied, sounding sleepy and happy and Castiel smiled, glad that his mate was reassured by his scent, relaxed and calm as he took Dean's hands and led him towards their bedroom, their nest. The submissive Angel's eyes blinked open wide when he saw the lamps on each corner of the room, brightening up each edge so everything stood out almost as though someone had gone in and redrawn all the edges. He tensed up a little, unsure but not afraid. "Cas? What'cha got goin' on in here?"

Castiel paused, turning around, and smiled, placing a chaste kiss to Dean's forehead. He didn't reply straight away, merely admiring the play of Dean's features in the false light. "God, you're beautiful." It came out of him unbidden, but it was as true as the first time he'd said it, and Dean, just like that first time, flushed, ducking his head so he didn't have to meet Castiel's eyes, biting his lower lip and fanning his wings as though waving away the thoughts.

"I'm -."

"Shh," the older Angel urged, smiling and placing a hand on the side of his mate's face. "Come on, Dean. I just want to take a few pictures of you."

"But," Dean asked, but went without hesitation, "why?"

"Because," Castiel replied plainly, smiling when Dean crawled onto their shared bed, staring back at Castiel, merely sitting, cross-legged, wings drooping lazily on the sheets, "you," Click, a bright flash of light, the first one taken as Dean blinked away the blue spots with a shy smile, "are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

* * *

The first picture was Castiel's favorite; Dean, just sitting there, his clothes muted and almost black against the white sheets, his wings shining brightly as though he was the sun fallen from the sky to land as a God among men. His eyes were so bright they looked like they had been enhanced, but Castiel hadn't done a thing – merely let his mate become captured in this perfect moment, with a soft, affectionate smile on his face and love in his eyes and happiness in the set of his wings.

The second picture they took, Castiel had joined Dean setting the camera to spontaneously go off every six minutes. He had Dean's face cupped between his palms, was kissing his mate softly, on the forehead after he had claimed his mouth, eyes closed. Dean had clung to him, fingers wrapping gently around his wrist, eyes shut, wings curving closer. The love and trust had been astounding, that his mate had shown him then.

The next one had Dean on display for his mate, shirt thrown off to one corner of the room, laying back against Castiel's chest while his mate stroked a hand through his wings, soaking himself in Dean's oil to mark himself, the other around Dean's hard, flushed cock. The redness staining Dean's cheeks had tinted his chest as well, provided such a lovely contrast to his wings, and the arch of Dean's neck back against Castiel's shoulder when he'd tugged, mouth open and panting, heels dug into the mattress, body tense and wanting – Castiel could never write enough about that, even if he were a poet.

The next was Dean on his hands and knees, fingers curled tight to the edge of the bed, his body stripped naked and bare for the camera to capture, wings flared out in a submissive stance, legs spread wide. His face was buried against the edge of the bed, jaw clenched tight, and only Castiel's legs were visible in that picture between Dean's own, but it didn't take a lot of imagination to figure out what he was doing.

The sixth was very similar to the fifth, but this time there was another set of hands in the frame, gripping Dean's hips tightly, mirroring the curve of the younger Angel's ass and straining, tense thighs. Underneath his wing, just visible, was a new-sucked mark on his flank, branding him, claiming him, and Dean's face was twisted into something like satisfaction and need all mixed into one.

The last one – or at least, the last one that Castiel kept – had Dean on his back. The lighting was a little funny because the Angel's convulsing wings had knocked one of the lamps out of its place and that area of the room was dark, but not enough to hide the tired, sated look on Dean's face, his head bent back against the white sheets, eyes half-lidded and staring up at Castiel above him. His neck was tilted, throat bared, Castiel's black wings meshing with the vibrant golden of his fallen sun, one hand braced against the center of Dean's chest where their Graces were glowing bright, that pale blue clashing with the white spend on Dean's abdomen.

* * *

"You're beautiful," Castiel said to Dean after the pictures were developed, and they were going through them all, and Dean flushed, ducking his head shyly, tucking his wings tighter against Castiel's.

"Not as beautiful as you."

Castiel snorted, rolling his bright eyes. Dean needed more convincing, it seemed.

He didn't have a problem with a work in progress.


	4. Well, That's New

**Title:** Well, That's…. That's New.  
**Author:** HigherMagic  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Pairings/Characters: **Dean/Castiel, Adam/Michael  
**Spoilers:** All AU.  
**Warnings:** heat!fic (not Dean/Cas), ideals not necessarily supported by anyone or by me, Adam's 17 so underage in some countries.  
**Word Count: **~2,700  
**Summary:** Dean's used to this sort of thing by now – he teaches an age range where the first heats hitting are common, but Adam Milligan is…an unusual case, to say the least.  
**Notes:** Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. More Snaphots 'verse – Cas asking Dean out! Aww yeah.

* * *

For those of you on this lovely website following the snapshots 'verse - which contains 'Got A Bad Case Of Lovin' You', 'Bend, Break, Snap', 'You'll See' and 'Getting Back to the Daily...', would you rather I simply continued posting these ficlets in this Book of Eros, or I moved it to a completely new story? Might be easier to track if you're simply interested in those parts. PM me or leave a review letting me know, thanks!

* * *

The fledgling's wings are shaking and his breathing is getting heavy and restless, shifting in his seat as he tries his best not to snap the pencil between his white-knuckled grip. It's getting hard to breathe, and the air is stifling and he wants more than anything to ask the teacher to open the window, let him out – let him fly, goddamnit, please, he'd do anything to get the wind underneath him and push up and up and up until the air was finally cold enough, the oxygen thin enough, to cool him down so that he could fall again.

Dean frowns, wings fanning the air lightly when he scents the unusual sweetness permeating his classroom. Turning around, it's not hard to find the source. Not everyone is looking at the teenager – a lot of them are trying _not _to look at him – but there's a flush high on his cheeks and his eyes look wild and Dean knows that Adam is going into heat.

He sighs, setting his marker on his desk, and tells the class to talk amongst themselves for a moment.

"Mister Milligan," he says, pale blue eyes snapping to his, wide and dilated and the air reeks of fear and need. "Come with me outside, please."

The fledgling looks like he can't decide between sagging to the floor in relief or jump up out of his seat and race to obey, to get out of the classroom before he gets jumped or mounts someone. There are plenty of dominant Angels in Dean Winchester's class, and both Dean and Adam know it would have only been a matter of time.

Dean had been teaching at this school for almost three years – and at this age, occurrences like this were not uncommon. Seventeen was the most common age for Angels to go into their first heats and this fledgling was giving classic symptoms.

"Mister Winchester, I -."

"Shh," Dean replies, smiling gently as he rests a hand on the back of the young Angel's neck, keeping his grounded and frozen still as he slid his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed the number of the school's on-site Angel physician. "Nurse Milton is gonna be here in just a minute, we'll get you some suppressants and -."

"_Mister Winchester," _Adam says again, urgency burning in his voice and Dean takes a moment while the phone rings to pay attention to the panting, trembling fledgling's panicked expression. "I'm already on them."

Dean pauses at that, right as Anna decides to pick up the phone. Well, shit. "Anna," he says, responding to the third time the redheaded woman irritably answers with an impatient 'Hello?'. "I've got Adam Milligan here, says he's on suppressants but he's going through the early signs of heat." A pause. "Maybe stage two, early three. I think we maybe have half an hour before it hits fully." Another pause, Adam's skin feels like it's trying to crawl away from his body, Mister Winchester's hand cool and gentle against the back of his neck the only thing keeping him sane. "Alright, we'll be right there."

Then, that hand tightens and Adam feels like his knees are about to buckle. "Come on, Adam," Dean says, dropping the formal teacher tone and allowing the fledgling to lean on him for support – first heats hit hard and if it could be arranged, it was better for another submissive Angel to be around them, keep their heads clear and lessen the effect of a dominant's mating pheromones. One of the reasons Dean had decided to teach kids this age, so that he could be useful in situations like this, when Adam's wings were flattened over his and his mating oil seeped into Dean's clothes – he could keep his head level and clear while a dominant might not be able to resist the alluring call of a fertile young Angel.

"Where – where are we going?" he asks, and Dean has to smile, proud of him for being able to keep his power of speech, even if the words are slurring a little and he's stumbling and leaning on Dean more than what really should be necessary.

The older Angel strokes a hand through Adam's hair. "Somewhere cold," he replies, and Adam breathes out a sigh of relief, and Dean has just enough time to think 'Thank God' that his own suppressants and birth control were still working strong, because he remembers his first few heats and god, they were no fucking picnic.

He pushes open the door to Anna's office, and the pretty human woman takes one look at Adam before her eyes go wide. "Sit him down," she says, already picking up the phone. "We need to get him to a hospital."

* * *

"Mister Winchester, if I didn't know better I'd have thought you lived here permanently now."

Dean turns at the familiar voice, his mouth cracking a warm smile as he meets the gaze of Doctor Novak. "It's that time of year, I guess," he replies with a shrug, but it is true – Dean's been at the hospital with no fewer than six students over the past two months, a high number if there ever was one, but that can only be a good thing – more submissive Angels mean greater numbers for their population and Heaven knows Angels are scarce enough as it is.

Adam's symptoms had gotten worse on the ride to the hospital, his system trying to flush out the suppressants in the forced heat, and whatever he was on was reacting badly to his pheromones, causing an almost allergic reaction that had landed him in the ICU – Castiel's turf.

The Doctor smiles sympathetically towards the young Angel curled up tight in his blankets, sweating through a fever, IV drips attached to the inside of his arm to keep him hydrated because he's soaking through the bed and Dean knows he's far from in the clear.

Dean had agreed to stay with Adam until his parents arrived, and he and Castiel are standing behind a glass observation panel, Adam alone in the room beyond because any dominant Angel getting a whiff of that would potentially compromise other patients' health and the Doctors' concentration.

Castiel sighs, then, picking up Adam's clipboard and flicking through the two or three lines of notes written down. "So he told you he was on suppressants?" he asks, and Dean nods, wings fanning the air in concern for the young Angel. To find one's True Mate so young, someone strong enough to override the natural protectors given by medicine and science to submissive Angels to stop them going into unwanted heats, well, it was a blessing, but Adam hadn't even graduated yet and, in Dean's opinion, it was far too early to start thinking about having children and mating himself for life. "We need to track this mate of his down, then, before his symptoms worsen."

Dean blinks at that. "They'll get _worse?_" he asks, looking at Castiel.

The Doctor nods, biting his lip. "Unfortunately, if they've already had sex, then Adam's body will only be satisfied by his True Mate's body. If they haven't, then after a few days his heat should go away." The Doctor shrugs and Dean can see the helplessness in the set of his large, dark, arching wings. "It's a waiting game, I'm afraid."

Dean's fingers curl into his palm, a loud breath escaping him. "So -." But he doesn't manage to finish his sentence, because behind them there is a loud thumping sound, followed by a crash, loud enough that even Castiel and Dean can hear, and they frown, turning to see the source of the sound. Castiel leads the way out of the observation room and Dean is close behind.

"Where is he?" They can hear someone shouting, loud and panicked and strained. "Where is he!"

There's a scuffle going on – someone's called security already, and there's a large human man trying to wrestle a young dominant Angel to the ground – the Angel is hissing, eyes flattened and blackened out in anger and desperation, his wings puffed out in a threat display and arched high in anger, he's already landed a punch to the man's face, blooming out dark and purple.

The Angel himself can't be much older than eighteen – he's tanned, eyes a thin ring of green-hazel-maybe-blue around the edges of his dark, wide pupils, hair a mess of black and dark brown meshed together, wings to match with lighter blonde highlights on the underside.

Dean's eyes widen when he breathes deep, and he reaches a hand out, instinctively clamping down around Castiel's forearm because, somehow, he could feel the dominant Angel physician getting ready to help mitigate the fight.

The Angel reeks of Adam's oil.

He must smell Dean at the same time Dean smells him, because abruptly he stops fighting, breathing hard and deep through his open mouth, and his eyes flash up, narrowing on Dean's figure with almost startling clarity considering how wild they are. "You," he murmurs, jerking his arm away from the human officer with a low grunt and the man lets him go at a nod from Castiel, watching the youth warily. "You…_where is he?_"

"Are you looking for Adam?" Castiel answers for Dean, taking a step forward, one of his wings very subtly extending in front of the younger Angel and Dean, if he were the type to notice that sort of thing, would flush at the obvious display of protection and territorial posturing Castiel is doing, just with that one gesture. "Are you his mate?"

"I tracked him down," the Angel replies, voice a low growl. Tension is building in him again but Castiel seems just as cool and calm as ever. "I'd track him down anywhere."

A ghost of a smile flits across Castiel's face. "What's your name?" he asks.

"Michael," the fledgling replies tersely, his fingers flexing by his sides. Clearly the scent of his mate's pheromones is barely keeping him calm – he'll go crazy as soon as he sees Adam, Dean knows. They both will – they'll throw each other down and mate until Adam's heat has finally subsided, probably with a baby already, and Adam will have to drop out of school and raise his family with this kid he might hardly know and -.

"Cas," Dean whispers, drawing the Doctor's attention to him, and he hopes Castiel can read everything Dena's trying to say in his face, because they _can't_ let Adam and Michael be together right now. Not without making sure they have protection or at least consent. But Adam can't rightly consent like this, not with the desperation in his body screwing up his thought processes.

Hell, Adam might not even want kids, or heats, or anything. Michael might be a fling to him. Unbidden Dean feels himself edging back towards the door, making himself a barrier because he has to protect this kid from making a stupid, rash decision in the middle of mating hell and possibly making a hell of a lot more because of it.

Castiel's brow is furrowed in thought, drawing in his lower lip and chewing on it and Dean feels himself go tense when his wings droop in resignation. "Michael," he says, voice placating and very even and Dean knows he's about to suggest something that neither of them will like. "Adam is very sick right now – the suppressants he was on to stop his mating pheromones have been overridden, and they are reacting to his body's natural hormones and making him very sick. Until we manage to flush them out, you will not be able to lay with him."

Michael's eyes widen in horror, as if shocked that Castiel would suggest such a thing. "I'm not here for _sex_," he spits the word, growling low. "He's my _mate _and he's in the _hospital _and I need to make sure he's okay. If he's sick I want to be here."

"I understand that, but -."

"Are you mated, Doctor?" Michael asks, forcing Castiel to stop.

The older Angel's wings shift, imperceptibly, before relaxing behind him. "No," he says.

"Then don't tell me you understand," Michael hisses in reply. "Let me see him. Tell him I'm here. _Please_."

After a moment, the Doctor subsides, because Adam's parents have finally arrived and Dean can hear them calling for their son as well, and he might be able to hold off one young Angel but not three who all have legal rights to him. "Very well," he says, stepping back and forcing Dean to one side with one push and a meaningful look. "You may all come to the observation room where I will explain his symptoms and the course of treatment, but you are not allowed to enter his room or attempt to interact with him until I say so, is that understood?"

* * *

Castiel finds Dean in the cafeteria about an hour later, nursing a cup of filter coffee with at least five open sugar packets beside it, absently poking at the remains of one of the cafeteria's surprisingly good hamburgers, bun and sad salad all that remained.

The younger Angel looks up at the Doctor's approach, concern immediately shadowing his face. "Is Adam alright?" he asks, fanning his wings in distress and anxiety over the thought of one of his students continuing to suffer, or taking a turn for the worst.

Castiel smiles, taking a seat opposite Dean when he senses the submissive Angel's receptiveness to him. "You know, it was kind of amazing, as soon as Michael and Adam's parents were sent back to wait outside, a nurse told Adam that Michael was here…his fever reduced dramatically within ten minutes, he was talking, responding to the steroids we were putting in him to flush out the suppressants…" Castiel shrugs, shaking his head in amazement and picking at the edges of Dean's burger bun. "It was really amazing to see. They're together now."

Dean frowns. "What?" he demands, wings tensing and brow furrowing in anger.

The Doctor's eyes land on him, steely and cold. "I understand your concerns, Mister Winchester," he says slowly, very evenly again like he had upstairs in the ICU. Then, Castiel's head tilts to one side. "What do you teach? In your school?"

"Mythology and Psych," Dean replies, blinking at the about-turn of the subject. "And I temp for shop classes sometimes."

"That's…an interesting skillset," Castiel says, looking down at his hands where they're resting on the table. "Why did you choose to teach those subjects?"

Dean blinks again, unsure where Castiel was going with this, but he sits back, deciding to humor the quirky older Doctor that he had seen so often because of so many of his students breaking into their first heat. "They're both electives," Dean replies. "The kids are there because they want to be there. So I want to teach them."

Castiel presses his lips together, and Dean's eyes narrow when he sees he's barely repressing a smile. "Adam and Michael wanted to be together," he says, raising an eyebrow. "Was it wrong of me to let them?"

"They're just _kids_, Cas!" Dean replies vehemently, a little more loudly than he'd intended, but the cafeteria is mostly deserted and after a brief glance around, he sees almost no one is paying attention to his outburst. "What if Adam gets pregnant, or it turns out Michael was a fluke? What then?"

Castiel sits back, cocking his head to one side as he regards Dean, with enough intensity that it's making the younger Angel blush, dipping his eyes down almost coyly. He's not used to being looked at like that – like Castiel is trying to figure out if he'd rather listen to Dean talk or kiss him to shut him up.

Which is ridiculous. Dean is ninety-seven percent sure Castiel is straight, if the way the female Angel nurses always fawn over him like he's some kind of prized stallion. Whatever. Dean fans his wings through the air again, forcing himself to cool down at the traitorous thoughts.

"Have dinner with me," Castiel says, completely startling Dean and throwing him for a loop.

His eyes widen and he blinks at the Doctor. "What?"

"Have dinner with me," the older Angel repeats, smiling slyly at Dean's darkening blush. "I have to get back to work soon, but I have a feeling we'll have a lot to talk about later on."

Dean's fingers curl into the top of the cheap plastic table, and he can't raise his eyes. "Why not sooner?"

Castiel smiles. "You've always rushed back off to the school every time. These are the first two seconds I've had to ask you out." And Dean's pretty sure he's turned the same red as the tomato he discarded from the top of his burger – the same tomato that Castiel is now pinching from his plate and swallowing down.

He pushes himself to his feet and Dean follows suit without really knowing why, small smile on his face and red permanently tattooed into his cheeks. "I'll see you around, Mister Winchester," Castiel says, smiling wide like he's just won the lottery, and Dean bites his lower lip, ducking his eyes down, and nods.

"Yeah, Cas," he replies, rubbing the back of his neck, bite of his nails helping to center him. "See you around."


	5. Gettin' Back To The Daily

**Title: **Getting Back To The Daily…  
**Author:** HigherMagic  
**Pairing(s): **Dean/Castiel**  
Rating:** NC-17  
**Word Count: **~2,500**  
Warnings:** self-lubricated, wing!kink, bad cliché, D/s  
**Summary:** Castiel has never been less excited to go back to work than the days tailing the end of Dean's heats.  
**Notes: **Have some bad Angel!porn. I don't know. I needed to write something that wasn't NaNo so here it is. I haven't checked it I'm so tired anyway have fun. :D

* * *

Castiel has never been less excited to go back to work than the days tailing the end of Dean's heats. Before and after those few ragged, raw, fuck-until-they-bleed days, Dean is the most affectionate, touchy-feely, adorable ball of ruffled feathers and happiness that Castiel has ever seen. Before, he's preparing his mate; getting Castiel ready and receptive to him, to let him in close to bite and scratch and entice his dominant partner into mating with him – scenting his pheromones and letting Castiel catch his fertility in the breaths between them.

After, Dean is usually preparing for a nest he isn't ready to have yet – affectionate with the dominant Angel because although Castiel knows he is more evolved than this, instinct still screams at an intruder to his nest, even if his intruder is his own offspring. Though they both know Dean doesn't conceive during his heats and won't until he stops taking his birth control, Dean's instincts tell him to dote on and adore his mate so that Castiel's instincts don't reflexively lash out at the disruption and confusion a newborn can bring.

So Castiel hates leaving Dean like that – when the submissive Angel can still function without Castiel's dick up his ass, pumping him full of seed – but his job only allows a few days' leave and when he had called in to announce his temporary leave of absence for Dean, his patients had been far from in the clear.

The first thing he does is check on the man who coded the night he had rejoined Dean for his heat, and the large smile on his face is not entirely forced as he picks up the clipboard, scouring the covering Resident's notes.

"How are we feeling today, Mister Franklin?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at the drop in dose of the anti-coagulate he had prescribed. Perhaps the patient had suffered no more cardiac incidents.

"Much better, Doc, thanks," comes the reply, cheery and alert and he raises his eyes to look the patient over. Mister Franklin is a healthy man, in his late thirties, with smile lines and dark brown eyes that seem warm and friendly. Castiel is glad to see him back in good health.

"Good," he says, nodding to himself and setting the chart down. "Good. The old ticker been giving you any more complaints?" The man shrugs, shaking his head, and the Angel nods again. "Excellent. Well, it seems we have a new diagnosis and I see you've already been started on meds, so we'll just have to wait and see. Hopefully this won't mean surgery."

"Where've you been, Doc?" Franklin asks after receiving the good news, one eyebrow raised and Castiel wonders if perhaps the stench of Dean's heat and their sex still lingers on him, despite his clean clothes and recent shower – sometimes his young mate is so damn fertile, it's a wonder the entire block doesn't reek of him.

The Angel smiles. "My mate recently went into mating season, and I had to stay home to take care of him. Nothing out of the ordinary."

The man nods. "You guys tryin'?" he asks, and Castiel blinks, for a moment surprised that the man would hear the 'he' when referring to Dean and still assume that the pair were fertile. Most humans had to have that explained to them. Castiel nods, not replying verbally, but still with a smile. "That's great, Doc. Good luck. Nothin' like havin' little ones around."

"I don't doubt it," Castiel says, shaking his head slightly. "I'll be back to check on you in a little while, Mister Franklin. Get some rest."

"Castiel!" The Angel's shoulders go tense when he hears the high-pitched, annoying voice of Megan, an intern who seems to have made it her sole purpose in life to work her hands into Castiel's wings and into his pants. He sighs, forcing himself to relax and smile at her as she approaches, black shock of hair in complete disarray around her face, her ivory wings fanning the air and not-so-subtly blowing her scent towards him. The amount of pheromones is almost staggering and Castiel does his best not to breathe in. "Cas, _hey._"

"Meg," Castiel replies, making sure to keep a respectful distance between the two of them. "How can I help you?"

She smiles – this wide, lopsided smile that Castiel supposes could be charming, but just makes him slightly uncomfortable. He's very aware that the Angels around them are watching them curiously, though the humans barely notice, and he's also very aware that Meg is stinking up the place, almost as though she's approaching heat herself, and after being so near to _his _very in-heat mate, the clash of pheromones is confusing and arousing at the same time.

"Nah, it's okay," she says, rocking onto her tiptoes and biting her lower lip. "I don't need anything. Just wanted to welcome you back."

"I…" And then suddenly the reason why Castiel's head is so blocked full of pheromones becomes obvious, as a large, warm hand suddenly settles itself on his back, and the air becomes infused with the scent of _Dean_ – still-in-heat-barely, teasing along the edges of his scent, and still reeking of Castiel too – _Dean_.

"That's so _sweet_," Dean says, his voice dripping sweetness in a way that can only really be described as catty, and Castiel would be amused but his head is clogging with submissive Angel pheromones and Dean's scent is teasing at him, making his cock twitch in his scrubs, his fingers clenching tightly as Dean's hand smoothes out along his back, hooks around his waist and pulls him in, and when one of Dean's wings stretches out to cover his, the wings are wet and reek of Dean's mating oil. "Isn't it, Cas? Someone's missed you."

Castiel can _taste_ the venom on Dean's tongue, knows his mate can be a fiery little thing when he wants to be, and notes with no small amount of surprise when Meg's eyes widen and she steps back. Meg and Dean have never met before and Castiel doubts they ever will again. His mate tends to leave an impression.

"So, um, yeah, I'll…see you around, Cas-_tiel_," Meg stutters out, turning on her heel and almost flying down the hallway in her rush to get away, and Castiel huffs out a laugh, but then Dean's fingers tighten in his flank and Castiel is aware of just how much his mate is vibrating with rage.

"You do that," Dean snarls under his breath, and then Castiel's whirling around, pinned against the wall just outside Mister Franklin's door, Dean's hand braced by his head so one half of his vision is merely Dean's bare skin – his mate hasn't changed his clothes, has barely dressed, still in an oil-soaked t-shirt and jeans that bare finger-shaped holes from where Castiel was too impatient to bother with the button and zip (which are luckily still intact) and even from here Castiel can tell the jeans are barely hanging onto Dean's hips.

Dean smiles, wide, warm, and sharp. "Hey, baby," the submissive Angel whispers, looking for all the world like he's in control, but Castiel can see the wideness of his pupils, scent the desperation in him, tell in the tight arch of his wings and how much they're curving forward just how badly Dean needs him right then.

"Did I leave too early?" Castiel asks, his hands coming forward without hesitation to flatten under Dean's wings, trapping his mate's glands between his fore- and middle-finger, lightly rubbing them, but doesn't find them swollen or sore. His mate is not still trapped in the throes of his heat. Something else is making him shake like this.

Dean's eyelids flutter a little, lower lip sucked between his teeth at the touch of Castiel's hands in his wings, before they flare open again, eyes dark and determined, lower jaw jutting forward in defiance. "No," he whispers, low, measured. "In fact, I still had the day off, so I was going to join you for lunch. But now…" Anger, then, flashing across his face – an irrational, instinctual rage against anything and anyone threatening his nest or encroaching on his mate. Sometimes Castiel forgets just how powerful and frightening his mate can be when he's spent days watching Dean writhe and beg for him. "Now, I think you should take me to your office and fuck me into next week, 'cause there's no way I'm leaving without that bitch being able to smell me _everywhere._"

…Oh. Of course. Dean _would_ choose to focus on Meg's attempts at seduction and not Castiel's refusal. Still, the Angel cannot deny that it's hot as Hell to see his mate so riled up, possessiveness set into ever line of his clenched jaw and curling fingers and arching wings.

Castiel can't stop his smirk even if he wanted to – loves how it makes Dean narrow his eyes, makes him even angrier to see Castiel so smug. "Come here, then, baby," the dominant Angel whispers, coaxing Dean closer with a hand around the back of his neck, cradling his skull and threading his fingers through his hair. "I'll give you what you need."

Dean's shaking by the time they manage to stumble into Castiel's office, his young mate clawing at him in a desperate attempt to rip the scrubs and lab coat from his body and Castiel can only give an amused huff when Dean's strength fails him, leaving the young Angel growling, frustrated, against Castiel's mouth.

"Get your fucking ass naked or so help me," Dean hisses out, eyes narrowed and dark and Castiel is quick to obey, placating his mate with gentle kisses down his throat and collarbone as he strips, before turning his hands to Dean. Perhaps Dean isn't still entrenched in mating lust, but his pheromones say otherwise and clearly he's not yet back to full capacity, if his twitching wings and desperately grasping hands are anything to go by.

Once they're both sufficiently unclothed to Dean's liking, the young Angel has his nails digging into Castiel's shoulders, pulling them closer together and trapped Castiel in with his wings, rutting close to each other and Castiel knows that Dean will be soaking his scent into Castiel's skin – he can feel Dean's slick oil on his arms, his wings, and Dean's sweat and pre-come on his stomach, and can smell Dean's own self-made slick against his mate's skin. God, had Dean even showered before coming here? It was a good thing Castiel's boss is a human otherwise he would be fired for indecent exposure or something.

_"Cas_," Dean hisses out, eyes glazed over, full lips parted and panting against his mate's open mouth, fingers clawing against Castiel's neck and shoulders and the older Angel groans, guiding Dean to lean against his desk, bracing them both so that he can rut, drive his cock against his mate's thigh and feel Dean shudder around him.

"You're fucking gorgeous, you know that?" Castiel pants out, flattening a hand against the back of Dean's neck and forcing their mouths together, as his mate whines softly, wings curling forward in invitation, his ass sliding around on Castiel's desk and it's going to be _soaked_ and probably leave a stain and Castiel can't fucking wait. Dean's legs slide further apart and it's so easy to step between them. "You have nothing to worry about, beautiful, nothing at all."

"Like fuck," Dean snarls back, bracing himself with one hand against Castiel's desk, sliding his hips forward so that Castiel has more room between his thighs, and it seems like the obvious conclusion when the dominant Angel curls his fingers in his mate's thighs, spreads and rocks forward, sinking into Dean's wet, fucked-out hole like he was there not ten minutes ago. Which, more like an hour or two, but still. Dean's body is open and ready for Castiel and aside from a slight pain, the Angel sinks in as easy as anything. "Know you won't fuckin' cheat on me," he grits out, wrapping his legs around Castiel as the dominant Angel breathes deep and tries to clear his head long enough to make sure he's gonna fuckin' last, because Dean's clenching down so tight around him and he smells so damn good and Castiel is pretty sure he's gonna lose his mind. "That bitch needs to know it too."

_"Dean_," Castiel grits out, reaching forward to wrap his fingers tight around his mate's shoulders, fucking in as deep as he can go until he hears Dean's sated moan, knows he's gone deep enough, rocked up just right to hit that spot that has his mate writhing. "Fuck, love it when you get like this, baby."

"Don't make it a fuckin' habit," Dean bites back, leaning up to pull Castiel down and bite into his mouth as the dominant Angel starts his rhythm, fucking into Dean as hard as he can – he should be punishing his mate, for showing up to work for sex _again_, and disrupting his schedule and getting in the way of seeing his patients, but, damn it, Dean when he's in the withdrawal from heat and everything's still shaky around the edges and his instincts are screaming to sate and keep Castiel are things that the dominant Angel can never and will never be able to ignore. It's just too damn _tempting_.

"Promise, baby," Castiel whispers, leaning down over his mate, hands braced in Dean's wings, kissing at his bare chest and throat, anywhere he can reach while Dean combs his fingers through Castiel's hair and swallows back his sounds. Castiel finishes first, his orgasm licking down his spine and out of him without warning, bringing him to a stuttering halt inside of his mate and Dean shivers, legs going lax and relying on Castiel to hold them up.

The room reeks of sex, and Dean still hasn't come. Without a word the submissive Angel wipes his hands down his own thighs, slick with his natural lubricant, and takes himself in hand, eyes on his mate as he strokes himself once, twice, once more and comes with a shudder, other hand pulling in Castiel close so that his release lands on the skin of his dominant mate.

Castiel will stink of Dean's sex, and the older Angel knows enough about his mate to realize that this was exactly the point.

He also knows that if he comes home smelling any different – has a shower or changes his clothes – then there will be Hell to pay.

Dean smiles wide, rubbing the come and slick from his fucked-out hole onto Castiel's skin. "I'll see you at home," he says sweetly, pressing a chaste kiss to Castiel's mouth and sliding one dirty hand through the Doctor's feathers, before he dresses and leaves the room.

After washing his hands thoroughly and redressing himself as best he can, Castiel returns to his patient, Mister Franklin, he's sure he looks a mess. The man raises an eyebrow, whistling low. "I know that look," he says with a large smile and a chuckle. "The feisty ones are the best."

And Castiel smiles, biting his lower lip as he picks up the clipboard again to add his own notes. "Yeah, they really are."


	6. Freefall

**Title: **Freefall  
**Author:** HigherMagic  
**Pairing(s): **Dean/Castiel, Sam/Jessica**  
Rating:** PG-15  
**Word Count: **~5,000**  
Warnings:** awkward talks, schmoop  
**Summary:** Dean's decided that maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing to mate with Castiel for real now – after all, six months in, he's pretty sure Cas is it for him. It's just getting up the stones to _say so_; that's the problem.

* * *

"But guys, what you don't understand about Oedipus as well – okay, let me start again."

Dean is grinning wide, and he knows his wings are fanning the air in excitement, but he just can't help himself – the story of Oedipus Rex is one of his favorites, for many reasons. "Those of you in my Myth class will already know this, but there's a whole other set of circumstances around Oedipus than just wanting to sleep with his mom."

A sea of blank, uncomprehending faces are looking back at him, and Dean sighs. "Okay, we know that Oedipus and his father were both Angels, but that his mother was a human, correct?" There is a vague assenting susurrus. "And we _also _know that his mother supposedly treated him as though he was his father, her new husband and mate." Another silence. "If a human marries an Angel they tend to learn how to properly care for them, yes?"

A slow, tentative hand is making it's way up from towards the back of the class, and Dean's eyes zero in on it, his grin widening. "Yes? Do you see what I'm getting at here?"

The young woman is blushing a little, biting down on her lower lip as she ducks her head, scanning through her notes. She is a human child, and very bright, and if Dean remembers correctly she's going to Stanford after graduation. "Oedipus displays characteristics of being a dominant Angel," she says slowly, and Dean is nodding because _yes, yes, she gets it. _"But his father was a…a submissive, right?"

Dean snaps his fingers, pointing in her direction. "Got it in one," he says, and she deflates a little in relief. "Y'see, the story mentions that Oedipus' biological father – the King – was a submissive Angel – an _angelus minor_. Unless he explicitly told his mother, and wife, otherwise, she would have continued to behave as though he was a submissive Angel as well, because humans – well, they don't know the difference first-hand, do they? Angelic gender is not as obvious to humans as it is to Angels."

"But…" That's Adam, and Dean is so glad he's back in class. He's practically glowing with health and happiness, now, his wings shiny and sleek – well-groomed and beautiful thanks to his mate. Dean's still not quite sure where that situation is leading to but it's none of his business really and if Adam's parents approve the match then, well, it's not his place to say shit.

"Yes, Mister Milligan, go on."

Adam's expression is set into a confused frown – a mass of hesitant thoughts when confronted with the _wrongness _of a dominant Angel allowing the same behavior and interactions as though he was a submissive. "But that's…that's _wrong_. A dominant wouldn't…" He's waving his hands vaguely in the air above his desk, staring down at their textbooks. "A dominant can't…"

Dean smiles. "I'll help you out, there, Adam. Actually, a dominant _can_. And _that_ –," He turns back to the whiteboard, scrawling out the title of this module on the board. "is going to be what we cover the rest of this year. Unfortunately, it does take a few months to cover each and every aspect of _Human and Angel sexuality,_ but it's fun as Hell and there's plenty of dirty stuff in it, so stop your griping right now."

A small chorus of laughs greets his last statement, and then Dean's attention is caught as his phone starts to ring. "Okay guys, start reading up on the Freudian analysis of Oedipus, and I'll be right back," he says, taking his phone out of his coat pocket and heading out into the hall, closing the door behind him.

The name _Sammy_ is flashing across his screen and, with a smile, Dean answers. "Hey, short stop, what's happenin'?"

"Dean." That exasperation will never get old. "I'm easily like four inches taller than you, now. Admit it. That's the first step."

"Never until my dying day," Dean says back. "But seriously, man, what's up? S'been a while." And he does _not _sound sad at that, alright? He doesn't. He just misses his brother, damn it, all fancy with his law degree and mate and house with a white picket fence. Livin' the dream.

"I know, man, but I'm in town tomorrow night and I was wondering if my big brother was free for dinner or beers."

"Of course!" Dean replies before Sam even finishes the sentence. He _just _manages not to do a celebratory fist-pump because the door to his classroom _is _partially see-through and he doesn't need that kind of thing ruining his rep. "Is Jess comin' with you?"

"Yeah." And Sam's voice has just gotten all soft and dewy and Dean rolls his eyes – he's totally gonna give Sam crap for that later. "And you should bring Cas along. I wanna meet the guy."

Dean's eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. "Sure thing, Sammy. I think he's free tomorrow night." And they arrange a time and place, but Dean can't linger long because he has a pretty good sixth teacher sense that tells him he's got about two minutes before things get rowdy and he has to get back to class, and they part with soft 'Love you, man's and plans to meet for dinner.

* * *

Cas can make it, which makes Dean ecstatic, because he's wanted Castiel to meet Sam for a long time, and it'll be awesome if the four of them can get along.

That doesn't mean, though, that he's not nervous, standing at the bar of the restaurant nursing a beer while they wait for Sam and Jess to show up, Castiel watching him with this weird look on his face like he's trying to figure Dean out.

A hand intercepts his bottle as he raises it to his lips again. "What?" Dean demands, a little irritated.

Castiel raises an eyebrow, amusement evident on his face, before he takes the bottle from Dean's hand and sets it on the bar. "You're nervous," he says plainly, making Dean flush a little and fan the air with his wings in an attempt to appear nonchalant. "I'm trying to understand why."

"Well…" Dean swallows, rubbing his palms against his thighs. "Sam's my brother, you know…" He shrugs one shoulder, turning towards the other Angel. "And Jess, well, she's the light of his life. I want you to like them."

Castiel smiles a little, indulgently, tilting his head towards Dean like he's fallen in love with him all over again. "I can think of no reason I wouldn't. If you love them, then they must be good people, right?"

Dean raises an eyebrow. "A little narcissistic of you, don't you think?" he asks, gesturing towards Castiel.

The dominant Angel blinks at him, mouth opening like he intends to answer back, his eyes widening slightly, but Dean doesn't have time to figure out what exactly it is he said, before the scent of his brother and his brother's mate is blown into the bar from the opening doors and he turns towards them in time for Sam to spot him.

Sam _has_ grown, damn it – the guy's a fucking giant now, but Dean still insists on hugging Sam with his arms above his brother's forcing Sam to bend down, and his little brother's wings come forward to mesh with Dean's tightly, intimately like they used to when they were younger, and Dean can feel some of the tension in him immediately drain away – if Sammy outgrew that, then Dean doesn't know what he would do.

He pulls away after clapping Sam on the back, and turns to Jess with a wide smile on his face. She looks beautiful, as always, and so happy to see Dean and he hugs her as well, wrapping his wings tight around her as she returns the gesture, her copper-chestnut-brown wings fitting almost perfectly over his smaller ones. The coarseness of her feathers doesn't bother him and he kisses her gently on the cheek in greeting, pulling away so that he can make the introductions.

"Sam, Jess," he says, smiling a little when he turns to find Castiel approaching them from the bar, drink-less, his large, dark wings curled tight to his back in what Dean would swear is anxiety except he's never seen Castiel nervous - _ever_, "I'd like you to meet Castiel. Cas, this is my brother Sam, and his mate, the ever-beautiful Jessica."

Jess laughs at that, covering her mouth, while Sam rolls his eyes. "C'mon, Dean, you gotta stop hitting on my mate. It's just indecent."

"One of these days she's gonna realize she's too good for you, Sammy," Dean replies with a grin, nudging his brother's shoulder. Castiel has yet to say anything and his eyes are on Jessica. "Cas 'nd I'll get drinks, you guys get our table, yeah?"

"Yeah, Dean, sounds good." And they leave – Dean knows what they drink, memorized it with the same fervency he memorized everything that Sam loved or found important – and Dean and Castiel return to the bar.

When they do, drinks ordered and on their way, Castiel blows out a loud breath. The younger Angel's wings go tense, curling tight to the back of his legs, and he cannot look at the other Angel.

"Should I have warned you?" he asks softly, after a moment, body braced for the blow. If Cas can't accept this, then…well, then that's it. If Castiel can't love his family then Dean has no room for him in his life. It hurts but it's true.

Castiel snorts, loudly. "That your brother's mate is _majora-minora_ transgender? Of course not, Dean," he replies, like that's the stupidest thing he's ever heard, and Dean finally raises his eyes to Castiel, biting his lower lip because it doesn't quite seem real – no one is _that…_well…are they? "I'm actually kind of relieved."

"What?" Dean asks, disbelieving. "Why?"

And it's Castiel's turn to bite his lip, looking down, idly playing with a coaster and spinning it on its edge. "The way you hugged her… I mean, Sam I could understand, but I didn't get at first how Sam could let you touch her like that and…" He sighs, rolling his eyes. "Forgive me: I may have succumbed to my instincts a little before realizing what the situation was."

"You're an idiot." It's said with affection, and Castiel looks at him like his mouth is smiling but his eyes are trying hard not to roll. Clearly the sentiment is mutual.

Then, their drinks come and nothing else is said about the matter. Jessica is a beautiful, charming girl, Castiel finds – studying to be a nursing practitioner, and Castiel can give her names of those he has worked with or for before who will be willing to give her guides or aid into the harsh, competitive field of medicine. It is so easy to see why Sam fell in love with her, with her earth-colored wings and throaty laugh and bright eyes.

Dean is practically glowing with happiness by the end of the night, his smile so wide it must be hurting. He might be a little drunk, easily leaning into the casual touch of one of Castiel's large wings around the back of his, one of his own lighter wings meshing against his brother's. They make a close circle, the four of them, and when Sam leans back to clear his throat it immediately gains Dean's attention.

"I'll admit," he says, a little uneasily, eyes nervously darting to the ground, then to Jess, then back to his brother, "that I had another reason for coming out tonight."

"Oh?" Dean asks, shoulders tensing slightly, but Sam doesn't look sad or angry so it's not like someone's died – no, he looks nervous, and one of his wings is holding Jessica tightly. "What's up, Sammy?"

Sam smiles, and Dean can hear his throat clicking when he swallows. "Well, um… Jess is pregnant, Dean. I wanted you to be the first to know. Mom and Dad don't even know yet."

For a long moment, Dean is silent. Then, he blows out a breath. "Holy shit, Sammy," he mutters, voice almost toneless as he looks between his anxious brotherly and his equally anxious mate. Then, his eyes stray down to their table, where Jess' unattended drink sits next to a half-full glass of water. "That's…that's fucking awesome! Congrats!"

Of course, he shouldn't be surprised – females are just as capable of carrying young as submissives are – but he's still taken aback. Sam is four years younger than him and already settled down with a nest and a family on the way. Jesus Christ.

But now he's smiling like he's a little boy and pulling Dean into a tight hug, their wings meshing again and he can feel Jess' coarse feathers brushing along his in shared sentiment, and he's smiling too and _God, _he's gonna be an uncle. Awesome.

"If it's a boy I call dibs on teaching him how to throw. Sam isn't man enough for that." And Sam shoves at him as he raises his glass, the four of them clinking together, and Dean feels like he might choke because he's just so damn happy for Sam. "He'll grow up fast."

He takes a drink, swallowing hard. Sam grew up so damn fast. They all do.

* * *

Castiel comes home to the most wonderful smell that he thinks has ever greeted his nostrils. Smiling, the Angel takes off his trench coat, breathing a sigh of relief at the stretch of his wings when freed from the restraining piece of clothing, and lets his hoodie fall off his shoulders as well, caught by his fingers to join its brother on the coat rack in his house.

Dean is humming to a song Castiel doesn't immediately recognize – not until the chorus, anyway – and for a moment the dominant Angel pauses, leaning against the doorframe without a door that leads to his small but well-used kitchen, a smile on his face as he watches his boyfriend cooking.

When Dean notices him, he immediately goes still, flush that Castiel has come to adore rapidly spreading across his face.

Castiel raises an eyebrow, smile growing. "So, I see you've managed to break into my house," he teases, earning a flutter of Dean's wings and a darker shade of red blooming on his cheeks. He chuckles, shaking his head, and straightens so that he can cross the distance between them, catching Dean's chin and turning the other Angel towards his kiss.

He can feel Dean immediately relax against him, lighter and more delicate honey-colored wings drawing in to fold under Castiel's, pressing their feathers together in a warm and intimate greeting – still in the early stages of their relationship, it never fails to steal Castiel's breath, the way Dean's wings are so warm and soft and welcoming to the touch of his stronger, more brittle feathers.

He pulls away, searching Dean's face, his eyes, for dilated pupils, scents him for arousal, but doesn't find anything that overpowers the smell of whatever Dean is cooking. He can feel Dean tense up again, eyes dipping down, and is quick to lean in for another kiss, smiling wide and stroking a hand through his feathers before pulling away again.

Dean closes his eyes, biting his lower lip and taking a deep breath, before he pushes past the _thing _that they're not going to talk about and returns his attention to his dinner. "You're home earlier than I'd thought," he says lightly, wings fanning the air. "It's not ready yet."

"Am I being banished?" Castiel asks, barely disguised amusement in his voice as he reaches for a beer from the fridge, and Dean snorts.

"'Course not," the younger Angel replies, smiling a little. "But you'll have to wait."

Castiel hums, opening and taking a sip of beer, before he sighs and skirts past Dean again, brushing a hand across the submissive Angel's lower back. "I have to take a shower," he says. "Lord knows what kind of shit's clinging to this anyway." He gestures to his scrubs, making Dean laugh again and pull a face, before he sets the beer down by the counter and exits the room.

Dean quickly leans down to check the innards of the oven, humming to himself once more, before he turns down the heat to merely maintain the temperature through the oven and slow down the cooking. Family recipe – nothing much, but the meat will melt in your mouth and the potatoes? Fucking heavenly, if he does say so himself.

His eyes keep flickering to the door of the kitchen which leads to the rest of the home. Castiel's probably reached the bedroom by now, stripping as he goes because that's what he does when he's had a long day and just needs to be surrounded by the warmth of a good shower, when he changes the head to beat down on his shoulders and through his wings – Dean only knows that because sometimes he forgets to change it back.

The submissive Angel's fingers curl into the countertop, muscles tensing as he braces himself against the surface. He could go up there, join his boyfriend-maybe-mate-it's-kind-of-a-messed-up-situation. The food would be safe for at least another half hour – plenty of time for him to make Cas forget _all _about his day.

He bites his lip. But.

If feels kind of unfair. It's not that Dean and Castiel haven't had sex yet – they have. A lot. Six months into their relationship and Dean's pretty sure there is no important part of Castiel that has not been in his mouth or his ass. Two months ago, Castiel gave him a key to this place and Dean's pretty sure that if he started building a nest here, moved his stuff in, sold his old place, the older Angel wouldn't blink twice.

_But_.

Dean knows Castiel is waiting for something. _What _that something is, he doesn't want to think about – ever since the night with Sam and Jess, Dean can tell Castiel has been thinking pretty much the same things he has. Maybe Castiel is an old soul, or maybe he's bought into this whole 'submissives need all the power and need to make the first moves' bull, but Dean would really appreciate, maybe, just once, for Castiel to make the first leap, because he hasn't since he asked Dean out for their first date and it's really making Dean start to wonder if they're both as into this as he is.

It all comes down to scent, and Dean knows it's his fault. His heat suppressants and birth control come with the added side effect that, really, he doesn't produce many pheromones at all, even when turned on. And if there's anything Dean would wish to change about Castiel – and that list is pretty damn small anyway – it would be for the other Angel to be a _little_ better about realizing that pheromones don't necessarily factor into just how turned on a submissive Angel can be. Being a Doctor, Dean had figured he wouldn't have to explain that.

Dean's been on suppressants and birth control since his first year of heats had been over, just as his doctors had recommended. He'd fucked himself through the first heats, complete with plastic mates and protection, and had never missed a day of those little life-saving pills since. His job covers heat leave, and he knows Cas' does too.

And, well, they haven't said the _words_ exactly, but Dean's pretty sure Castiel is it for him. Their start maybe have been a little shaky – Dean might have called him an arrogant douche once or twice, but hey, Castiel had called him as asshole so it all works out, really. Still, birth control and heats – nests, _family_ – are something they've never really discussed – Castiel has remained quiet on the subject since their run-in with Adam and Michael and the subsequent first date, content to remain undemanding and aloof until Dean crawls into his lap and begs to be fucked.

Dean sighs, shoulders slumping when he hears Castiel's footsteps coming back down the stairs – he must have gotten really lost in his own head if his boyfriend-mate-whatever had managed to take a shower already. The other Angel returns to him, reclaiming his beer and dressed in a too-big shirt that Dean's pretty sure is his even though he doesn't remember ever bringing it over here, and a pair of sweats that hang low on his bony hips.

"You okay?" Castiel asks almost immediately, resettling his free hand on Dean's lower back, one wet wing stretching out around both of his, and Dean smiles at the warmth, tucking his wings in tight so that more of Castiel's wing will cover him, curling around his shoulders.

"Yeah, just thinkin'," he replies, tilting his head to nuzzle against Castiel's temple briefly, making the older Angel smile.

"What about?"

So Dean might be a coward. "I hope you like this," he says, crouching down to peer inside the see-through door to the oven again. "My mama used to make this for Sam and me, and Dad used to swear by it. It's an old family recipe."

Castiel hums, resting a hand on Dean's shoulder, fingers squeezing gently. "Do you have a large family?" he asks.

Dean bites his lip, looking up at the other Angel. He's pretty sure he's talked about Sam and his life since they'd started dating, but -. "Just the four of us, plus some cousins. Why?"

Castiel shrugs, the set of his wings faking nonchalance. "I was just wondering." Then, he smiles. "I'm sure it will be delicious, Dean – from what I smelled, it will be."

Dean smiles, and flushes again, before getting to his feet. "Go, sit," he insists, pushing his wings out to force Castiel to step back. "It's almost done – go sit down and I'll bring it out, alright?"

"You sure you don't need help with anything?" the older Angel replies, making Dean smile.

"Just sit your pretty ass down and let me take care of you," he says, causing Castiel to huff and acquiesce quietly, but not before leaning in and stealing another kiss from Dean – one that causes his wings to flutter and his breath to catch in his throat, but his body to remain steadfastly and stubbornly cool. Fucking suppressants.

He can _feel _the restrained disappointment in Castiel when the Angel once again searches his face in a way that he doesn't think Dean notices, before taking leave of the room. He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, and bites his lower lip in thought.

Castiel is _it _for him. His tongue stumbles over the word 'mate', so desperate to say it when describing or introducing Castiel to his family and friends, and he knows that there are methods of birth control that don't fuck up heat suppression. His happen to coincide, but he knows there are other options – knows because he looked into them before deciding on the blanket effect his own achieve.

He sighs again, opening the oven and waving the steam away after the little timer beeps at him, and pulls out the roast and potatoes, setting it on the counter. He could do that – give Castiel, if not a family, then at least a mate and a nest. Hell, they're practically already nesting anyway. All that would change would be the pheromones, the intensity, maybe the dynamic between them…

Does it matter?

Dean swallows, ladling a hearty amount of potatoes and vegetables onto two plates to join the slices of meat. Only one way to find out.

* * *

"So, I'm thinking maybe of changing my medication."

He blurts it out in the middle of dinner, right after Castiel regaling him with a story of a man who had gone in for a routine check-up and ended up being diagnosed with kidney stones (pleasant conversation, but really the only new information Castiel can provide) after Dean had been telling him of a student's ridiculous (but strangely well-written) essay insisting that all diseases are mental ailments – from submissive Angels going into heat to cancer. It had been an…interesting read, to say the least.

Castiel doesn't respond – not immediately, anyway. He merely stares at Dean, watching him for a long time, long enough that the younger Angel kind of wishes he hadn't spoken at all, and his wings are fanning the air in anxiety and he can't look his boyfriend-mate-whatever in the eye.

Finally, _finally_, Castiel speaks; "My place or yours?"

Dean blinks at him. "What?"

The older Angel sets down his fork, and Dean can tell he's trying not to smile. "If you're suggesting what I think you're suggesting, we can't risk you being alone when it first hits." Dean flushes again, biting his lower lip and looking sternly at his plate. "I think we should move into your apartment."

"Really?" Dean asks, raising an eyebrow.

Castiel nods, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. "It's less expensive, closer to where both of us work, and…it smells like you." It's Castiel's turn to blush, just a little, and Dean barely notices because he's too busy not making eye contact and trying not to smile too wide. "I like that."

Dean swallows, fingers curling tightly around his fork. That's one of the things he would _never _change about Castiel – the guy gets to the point fast enough given half the chance. "I'd like that, too," he murmurs, daring to flash his eyes up to meet Castiel's, finds Castiel watching him with affection and, dare he say it, love.

Then, Castiel is pushing himself to his feet, meal forgotten, slowly circling the table to approach Dean. "How long have you been rolling that thought around in your head?" he asks, smiling lopsidedly, fingers trailing up Dean's arm to squeeze his shoulder, wings dragging down to wrap around Dean's chair.

The submissive Angel shudders at the feeling of Castiel's older, coarser feathers rubbing against his own. "A while," he admits, flushing a darker red as he looks up into the eyes of his – can he say it now? "Since dinner with Sam and Jess. I…well, I guess you could say I want people to… I want to _know _that we're…"

Then, Castiel is kissing him, and Dean doesn't need to say any more. He feels Castiel's hand clench tight in the front of his shirt, the older Angel's tongue forcing his lips apart, sliding into his mouth, curling, claiming, and Dean's shaking and breathless and clinging back.

"_Cas_." His brain feels like it's disconnected from the rest of him, his wings curling forward so suddenly he almost falls off his chair in an effort to be wrapped in the older Angel's arms, but Castiel laughs and his arms catch Dean, helping him up so they're both standing, Castiel's still-damn wings wrapping so tightly around Dean that his own wings almost ache with confinement.

When they pull away for air, Castiel lays a gentle hand against the side of Dean's face, thumbing at his lower lip. "Dean, I -."

"I want to give this to you," Dean whispers, flushing a little at the honest, so-overdue words, his fingers curling around Castiel's wrist when he turns his head to kiss at the meaty part of Castiel's thumb. "I want to, eventually, give you everything."

Castiel is looking at him so fervently, like he wants to commit every detail of this moment to memory and Dean can't meet his eyes, knows his cheeks are burning and red and his wings are shaking in anxiety. His heart is racing. "Is…that okay?" he finally asks, when the silence stretches on and on.

"Is that…?" Then, the moment breaks, and Castiel is laughing – breathless, grinning, and Dean lets himself relax. "Dean, you beautiful, incredible soul." He's still shaking his head, like he can't believe Dean would doubt himself in this moment – can't believe that Dean would think Castiel wanted anything other than a nest and a family from this Angel. His hand still hasn't moved, and the second mirrors it on the other side of Dean's face, pulling him in for another kiss, his wings curling forward and over Dean's to pull him close. "Of course."

* * *

It's probably a good thing Castiel insisted on moving into Dean's apartment. They kind of make a mess of Castiel's living room, and bedroom, by the end of that night. Dean aches in all the best places the next morning when, with a small smile, he flushes the rest of his suppressants down the toilet under Castiel's watchful eye.

"How long do you think it'll be?" he asks, looking towards his – he can say it now – _mate_ where Castiel is standing in the doorway to his en suite bathroom. "Do you know?"

Castiel shrugs one shoulder, smiling. "It depends, but it might be a week or two – you've been on them for a long time. They'll have built up."

He accepts that with a small nod, pressing his lips together before licking them. "Fair enough." Then, he straightens, rejoining his mate in the bedroom and kissing him chastely, running a hand through Castiel's hair. "Are you excited?" he asks, wings giving away his nervousness – he knows he kind of sprung this decision on Castiel, and yeah they've been dating a while and getting pretty serious, but they haven't _talked about it_.

"I am overjoyed," the dominant Angel whispers in reply, kissing Dean again. "I can think of no greater pleasure than sharing a nest with you, Dean, and I am honored that you chose me to do it."

"Sweet talker," Dean teases, but he's smiling and his wings are fluttering in happiness.

"Besides," Castiel continues with a smirk, "think of all the money we'll save on lube."

"Cas!" Dean's shocked outburst accompanies a pillow thrown in Castiel's general direction, and the dominant Angel catches it and leaps at his mate with a low growl.

Dean's a little late for work, but he, unsurprisingly, can't find it in himself to care.


	7. The World In Color

**Title:** The World in Color  
**Author:** HigherMagic  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Pairings/Characters: **Dean/Castiel  
**Spoilers:** None, it's AU.  
**Warnings:** Angel!destiel, first-time heats, references to knotting  
**Word Count: **~3,500  
**Summary:** In an abstract kind of way, Castiel had been expecting this sort of thing to start happening. That didn't mean he was prepared for it.  
** Notes:** Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

* * *

In an abstract sort of way, Castiel had been expecting this kind of thing to start happening – Dean's heat suppressors, when combined with the birth control he had been taking, rendered him essentially asexual by any foreign dominant's standards. The submissive Angel was gorgeous and attracted plenty of attention, let's not get him wrong, but beyond that, unless his wings were postured in a specific way or he was being blatantly obvious about it, Dean as an Angel never seemed to attract unwanted or unwarranted sexual attention.

When he and Castiel had first met, the Doctor had assumed that it was simply because Dean held very firm control over his biological impulses – that was, he soon learned, a completely incorrect assumption. Dean was prone to even the subtlest of mating urges, a slave to his passion as much as any other 'receptive' submissive might be. And he was passionate, eager and willing to give into both his and Castiel's urges to mate over their time together, even when his scent would lend Castiel to believe that he was unwilling.

It has been three weeks since Dean flushed his suppressants down the toilet, and two since starting his new medication. Castiel had recommended that they give his body time to completely flush out the previous blanket medication before starting his new prescription and Dean had obeyed. He was now, supposedly, completely capable of giving out pheromones and producing his own wing oil and lubricant, and all the other things that submissive Angels could naturally do – all the while remaining unable to conceive. They weren't even close to being ready for that: Castiel suspected it would take Dean years to be comfortable enough in his nest to even think about having children.

As a Doctor, Castiel knew everything there was to know about a submissive Angel's biology and physiology. What he hadn't expected – what had never been mentioned in much detail in any of his textbooks or lectures – was the _effect_ that those biological changes might have, once a submissive Angel suddenly becomes ready and willing to mate, in both body and mind.

It was like seeing Dean in color, when Castiel had never realized there was anything wrong with the sepia filter. And it happened like the ticking of a clock – one second everything was normal, Castiel had come home early and was debating between take-out menus – he was craving Chinese but Dean didn't like so much sauce all the time so they'd probably end up with pizza – when he was suddenly buffeted by what can only really be described as a wall of sensation.

He turned, and Dean was glowing. As though someone had taken off the filter from his skin, he was brighter than Castiel had ever seen him before – his wings, pretty before, bronze and copper and honey, were now almost radiant like a fallen sun, tipped with flecks of gold that Castiel had never seen or never noticed before. His eyes were not just green anymore, but held rings of gold and darker shades of jade than he had seen – and he knew Dean's eyes as well as his own, it could not be that he simply had not seen it before. His skin, pale except for where his cheeks were flushed from the wind outside, seemed smoother, his shoulders broader, everything was different about him without anything having changed at all.

"Dean," Castiel croaked out, his mouth suddenly gone dry with desire and awe at the sheer beauty encased in his young mate, and it drew the other Angel's attention – a swift flash of those new eyes, darker now, pupils widening when he looked at the black-winged Angel.

Dean blinked, straightening a little on looking at Castiel. "…Cas?" He said the name like a question, dropping his satchel by the door and kicking his shoes off, coat already off being hung by the door before he took a step forward, towards the paralyzed man. Something was different – something was off. Castiel had never looked at Dean with such hunger before: even in the midst of their mating, never had Castiel's eyes been so dark, never had his wings been so stiff and arched with barely-controlled barely-concealed desire. "Castiel? Are you okay?"

Without a word, Castiel placed the take-out menus back down on their kitchen counter, slowly circling around the corner of the counter to get closer to Dean. Even the very air seemed different, saturated with…with something else, something that Castiel had never smelled before, not in such great abundance, anyway, and -.

He blinked, slowly, like a drunk trying to clear his double vision, and reached out to Dean, who immediately curled in closer to allow Castiel's hand to land against his chest. Dean's own hands rested on Castiel's shoulders, steadying his boyfriend-mate-whatever, trying to see if he could read in Castiel's eyes what had him reacting so strongly to…well, to whatever it was. "Castiel," he whispered, taking the other Angel's chin in his hand and turning him so their eyes could meet. "Cas, what's wrong?"

The older Angel swallowed, eyes almost glazed, and his fingers curled in Dean's shirt, pulling him in. "Kiss me," he demanded, voice stronger now, wings shaking as he pulled Dean in, other hand curling around the back of the younger Angel's neck, their lips slanting together before Dean could reply.

Dean's question was lost in the kiss. Castiel kissed with a hunger that surprised Dean – they had had sex just this morning, Castiel waking him with insistent fingers tugging through Dean's wings, his erection digging into the small of Dean's back, warm and hard and so good when Castiel had rolled Dean onto his stomach, fucked in his fingers soaking with Dean's wing oil and taken him just like that – with Dean's cries muffled by the pillow and a strong hand on the back of his neck keeping him down.

The memory – the reminder – had Dean's body shuddering, thighs and ass clenching in remembrance, and then he gasped, pulling back. It had been a long time – a very long time – but that…he felt it. Slick, he could feel his body flushing hot, wetness seeping from his body in preparation to -.

His mind stuttered on the word. _Mate_. His body was…

"Cas," he gasped out, saw the knowledge, the realization, written into the older Angel's face as well, into the fierce snarl of triumph that escaped him before they were kissing again, Castiel's fingers curling through Dean's shirt hard enough that, if he wasn't careful, he'd rip holes in the damn thing. "Cas – Castiel. Mate with me."

_"Yes_." Castiel's wings flared out as though the spring winding them tight had snapped, wrapping around Dean and caging him in as though they were a mated pair in flight, and then they were stumbling, Castiel shoving roughly at Dean's body to force him towards their bedroom, Dean helpless but to obey the insistent press of his dominant's hands until they were in their bedroom, and Castiel's wings fell away, giving him a little room to breathe.

"Strip," Castiel hissed out, no blue left to his eye now, but a large black pupil fringed with gunmetal grey. Dean flushed at the order, his wings fanning the air in hesitance, but he obeyed anyway, because Castiel was looking at him like he would eat Dean alive, clothes or not, and the submissive Angel's body was flushing hot at the knowledge that his dominant desired him so completely – the want in Castiel's eyes was enough for Dean to want to drop to the floor on his stomach and let Castiel go crazy.

That thought made him pause, briefly. That had never occurred to him before – flattening himself to the ground and baring the most intimate parts of himself for his dominant. They'd had sex like that before, Castiel behind or on top of Dean, hands buried deep in his feathers, but Dean had never particularly been out of his mind with the desire to submit like that – this urge, it was new, and it was a little unnerving.

"Dean," Castiel bit out, drawing Dean's attention. The young Angel could see the evidence of Castiel's desire, in the set of his wings and the outline of his cock beneath his jeans, the way his fingers were just slightly curling as his eyes raked over Dean – like he was already touching the submissive Angel, already adding to the faint nail marks on his sides and across his inner thigh, and darkening the bite that had been laid to Dean's shoulder.

Dean straightened, swallowing, and slowly pulled his shirt over his head, shaking his wings to dislodge the shirt from around them. His jeans were around his ankles and he toes them off along with his socks, so he was stood in only his underwear, and as he shifted he could feel the slow slick of natural lubricant against his ass, warming between his thighs. He lifted his chin, inhaled, and Castiel followed suit. They could both smell it.

The pheromones of a submissive Angel are evolved to entice and attract a dominant Angel. Castiel looked wild, barely under control, and after another moment Dean shoved his underwear off of him as well, so he was completely naked and bare for Castiel's hungry gaze. "Cas," he whispered, feeling a little unsure, this sudden flood of desire combined with the physical changes to his body unnerving him, and black eyes flashed up to meet his. Dean held out a hand, licking his lips – his mouth felt so dry. "Please."

_"Dean_." Castiel was on him within a second, his nose pressed tight to Dean's throat, his hands curling around the younger Angel's flanks. There was a softness there that hadn't been before, Dean's body softening in preparation for a fledgling to grow, and Castiel smiled – this was it. This was the beginning of whatever pseudo-heat Dean might have until he was ready to be impregnated, and was off his other medication. "Dean – my God, Dean…"

"I, ah…" Dean laughed, his fingers threading through Castiel's hair gently, and his wings were shaking and Castiel itched with the urge to soothe them – he wanted to be touching Dean everywhere, and to bury his nose in Dean's throat and in his wings and scent him: all of him, take in the scent of Dean's fertility and his desire and know that Dean wanted him back – finally, finally he could know just how much his submissive craved him, ached for him, was drenched for him. "I think the suppressants have finally worn off, Cas."

Castiel laughed too, short and sharp like it was being punched out of him. "Yeah," he said, smiling despite himself, and he pulled away, pressing another kiss to Dean's neck, to his jaw, his mouth, any part of Dean that fell under him. "_Dean_." His entire being had narrowed down to the other Angel, and he had known that a dominant's attachment could border on the obsessed, but he had never believed it – never, until Dean had coming home smelling so different and glowing like a fallen star. Dean was beautiful and Castiel ached to consume him.

A low, animal sound escaped the black-winged Angel, his wings arching up high, flaring out, and he pushed at Dean again until the younger Angel fell back onto their bed with a low, startled 'oof'. Normally Dean might have scrambled back, teased Castiel forward, covered himself with his wings to create a barrier that Castiel would have to fight through, but not now – now, there was something within both of them, something intense and urgent that kept Dean's wings spread out wide, that kept his body still as though he was a prey animal hiding from a hunter.

Castiel covered his body like a wave of water – slow, warm, covering and touching every inch of Dean that he could, he slid between his young mate's legs. The word echoed inside of his head, over and over – _mate, mate, mate. _Dean's scent was staining the air the color of honey and sunlight, that unnamable, foreign scent that Castiel abruptly realized were Dean's pheromones.

The submissive Angel was wet. Castiel could feel it against his thigh when he slotted himself between Dean's eagerly spread legs, his own spreading out to force Dean's farther apart as he sat back on his heels to get a good look at the offering spread out before him.

A feast for his eyes; Dean's body was a mix of his natural pale skin, the red flush of embarrassment and desire and nerves, the gold of his wings and the grass of his eyes. He looked like natural beauty, virgin blush and carnal sin and Castiel wanted him – wanted him more than he could have ever said. His mouth had gone dry again, his throat sore, and his touch when he gently splayed his fingers across Dean's inner thigh was reverent.

"Dean," he whispered, no volume left to his voice – just need, and awe, and joy that he could have ever had such a beautiful mate choose to be his. He shifted back on the bed, wings spreading out around him for balance, and swept them forward to lay against Dean's flanks, instinctively covering his mate's beauty from covetous eyes, and meshing their feathers together in an intimate caress. Dean's stomach sank in with his inhale, chest rising enough that his ribs stood out, and Castiel lowered his mouth to the taut tendon in Dean's thigh, connecting his leg to his hip. He sucked at the thin, tender skin, soaked with Dean's slick and the scent of his fertility was ripe in the room, begging to be stuffed full and bred and mated with. A shudder ran down Castiel's spine and a hand flattened across his cheek, gently urging his mouth down farther.

"Please," Dean whispered, sounding just as shocked and awe-struck as Castiel was, his eyes dark so the gold was almost completely gone, his lips red from where he had been licking and sucking at them, thighs trembling around Castiel. "Cas, please."

Castiel bared his teeth in a smile, and nuzzled again at Dean's thigh, resisting the push against his cheek until Dean gave up with a soft sigh, instead threading his fingers through his dominant's hair. He closed his eyes, head resting back against the pillows, and gave another startled hiss when he suddenly felt two fingers sinking into him.

It had never been this easy on his suppressants – his body stayed dry and tight no matter how turned on he was, so he and Castiel had had to buy lubricant and spend time spreading open Dean's body to take Castiel. Like this, though, it was so different. His body eagerly parted for something to fill it, hot and wet and craving in a way Dean only vaguely remembered happening during puberty. He could feel the wet spot growing on the bed, but couldn't find it in himself to be disgusted – not when Castiel's very wings shuddered at the taste of Dean, when he withdrew his fingers and slid them into his mouth, eagerly sucking the taste of his submissive off of his fingers and greedily inhaling his potent scent.

For a long moment, again, everything was still, too quiet and too tense and Dean felt like he was going to die – drown in the broken dam of years of blocked pheromones crashing down around him. Suddenly, he sat up, tugging on Castiel's hair until his dominant rose to meet him, clashing their lips together in something desperate and needy. He could taste his own slick on Castiel's tongue, feel the moisture of his own body when Castiel's hand wrapped around his arm, shoved him back down until Castiel was hovering over Dean, wings flaring out and wrapping tight around Dean – around his prize, shielding him as he would have in older times when mating flights still happened and even when caught a submissive was still up for grabs.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against Dean's shoulder, letting his body fall and weigh Dean down against the bed, his hands curling around the flesh of Dean's ass, lifting him, curling him so that Castiel could feel the wetness of Dean's body against his erection. He could feel the warmth of Dean's flush against his cheeks, in the way that the submissive Angel wrapped his arms around Castiel's shoulders, buried his face in Castiel's neck, and wrapped his wings tight around the both of them in return. "So beautiful, and all mine."

Dean's response is lost in a sharp cry when Castiel is suddenly there, thrusting into him, splitting him apart and his body is yielding so easily, so readily, but he goes tense, expecting pain, expecting something to catch or drag or to suddenly go very wrong – there's nothing. His body is wet and open and burning hot and Castiel's breath is warm on his neck, the drag of his jeans against Dean's thighs the perfect friction when he slides back out, back in – fuck, he's going so _easily_, Dean had no idea it could be this easy, this natural. His fingers curled into Castiel's shirt, desperately tugging it up and over his head and Castiel briefly lets him go to help him, sitting back once the shirt is off, his hair sticking up every which-way and Dean laughs again, pulling him back down.

Their kiss is messy and fast, Castiel's hands going back to Dean's ass to lift him to a better angle as he thrust back into the warm, wet body of his mate. Dean was _soaking_, and the scent of fertile submissive was saturating the entire room, clogging up Castiel's brain with little more than _mate_ and _breed _and _fuck_.

He could feel his orgasm building up fast, and Dean was going tense underneath him as well. Castiel's instincts were fighting with him, urging him to breed and knot and fill up his mate with seed, but he knew Dean was still on birth control and he didn't want to hurt his mate or freak Dean out by getting _that _serious so soon. He didn't know where Dean stood on knotting and until he found out, he would not lose control like that.

"_Cas_," Dean gasped, clutching more tightly at his dominant's shoulders, one hand knotting tightly in the back of Castiel's hair and yanking him up for another kiss. That was all it took for Castiel to lose it – the sharp sting of desire sent another lightning strike down his spine, and Dean was clenching so deliciously around him. Without thinking he pulled out of Dean, one hand flying to his erection to stroke him through his orgasm, and he came with his head bowed, bracing himself over the body of his mate, spilling on Dean's heaving, sweaty stomach and chest. His seed clashed with the flush of red on his mate's skin, and now Dean stank of both of them – fertile submissive and virile dominant Angel mixing together on his skin.

He was still trembling when he lowered his hand to wrap around Dean's own neglected arousal, fingers too tight, strokes too fast, but Dean's entire body went tense underneath him, a shudder rolling down his spine, his hands curling tight enough to hurt in Castiel's shoulders as he was dragged up and thrown over his own precipice, coming with a low shout of his dominant mate's name, muffled into Castiel's neck.

_"Fuck_," Dean hissed when he came down, shifting and wincing at the burn along his thighs where Castiel's jeans were still digging into him, and the utterly soaked bed he was laying on. Castiel muttered something that may have been an echoing sentiment, lifting himself just enough to roll onto his side next to Dean, arms and wings wrapping tight around him.

"I had no idea," Castiel whispered, his nose still firmly buried against Dean's throat, one hand idly stroking up and down his thigh still, in a touch that was almost tickling when he reached too far down, enough that Dean's muscles tensed underneath him in preparation for the touch, relaxing only when he moved away. "Your smell…one whiff of it, and I was gone. How did you make it through the day?"

Dean's mouth turned down and he lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "I didn't even notice until I saw you. Today was a normal day, then…" He shrugged again, smirking a little and turning his head to regard Castiel. "Well, then you looked like you wanted to bend me right over, so I wasn't gonna say 'No'."

Castiel frowned a little. "You didn't feel it? Really? At all?"

Dean shook his head, eyes honest, unguarded, the gold returning to them again. "Not until you touched me – not until I came home." He took a deep breath, eyes closing for a brief moment. "It smelled different, in here, like -."

"Like you'd been inside a stale room all your life, and suddenly there was fresh air?" Castiel finished for him, and Dean opened his eyes again, smiling a little and nodding. "Yeah," he said. "Same here."

"Do you think we kind of…had a warning for that? This morning? I've never…"

"I don't know," Castiel replied with a shake of his head. "I've never studied a case like this, Dean – I don't know what to expect."

"Imagine what the actual heat will feel like," Dean said, half-jokingly, but Castiel could see the tiny thread of anxiety in Dean's eyes, hear it in his voice. In response he pulled Dean closer, shifting up the bed so that the submissive Angel could more easily burrow into his arms, one of his large and heavy wings covering the both of them like a feathery blanket.

"We will prepare for it," he promised, stroking a hand through Dean's sweaty hair. "There are signs to look out for, anyway. I wouldn't leave my mate to fend for himself during a heat."

Dean was still and silent for a moment after that, before he pulled away, just far enough to be able to see Castiel's eyes. "Your mate, huh?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, one side of his mouth curling up in a smile, but Castiel could feel the faint flutter of Dean's wings underneath his, and he smiled, hooking his fingers underneath Dean's chin and drawing him in for a kiss. Their bed – their nest – reeked of the both of them, almost overwhelmingly so, and he had laid claim to Dean in this nest.

_Mine_, Castiel brain whispered, fierce and possessive, and he kissed Dean again. "Yes, Dean," he said simply. "My mate."


	8. Smile and Wave

**Title:** Smile and Wave (Part of the Snapshots 'verse)  
**Author:** HigherMagic  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Pairings/Characters: **Dean/Castiel  
**Spoilers:** None, it's AU.  
**Warnings:** allusions towards MPreg, misogyny/bigotry  
**Word Count: **~3,200  
**Summary:** Castiel's bigoted, chauvinistic bosses are in town, and wanting to come over for a casual meet-and-greet. Cas just needs to break this news to Dean.  
** Notes:** Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. This was getting too long so I split it in half.

* * *

Castiel is anxious. Dean can tell, because he has yet to say a word. While his mate is reticent and soft-spoken under normal circumstances anyway, he still usually goes out of his way to ask Dean about his day, or utters a soft curse and relieved breath upon crossing the threshold to their nest. Today, he hasn't said a thing – merely stalked into the kitchen to heat up a plate of leftover Chinese food, which he then carried to his laptop at the table and booted it up while tucking into the meal. Dean had come home to find him like that and so, unwilling to disturb Castiel while he was still at work, the submissive Angel had made himself scarce, marking papers that he had been given that day, planning out the next week or two of his classes and then, when he was finished with that and Castiel was still busy, Dean changed into sweats and plonked himself down in front of the TV, close-captioned and muted, and settled down to watch the game.

Castiel has always been one to mull his words over before letting them loose, and while Dean can find it frustrating at times – to know that something is wrong with his mate and yet being unable to do anything about it is possibly one of the most maddening things he's ever experienced – he knows better than to push Castiel into giving up the ghost too soon.

So they are here now, Castiel curled up on the couch, his head resting on Dean's thigh as the submissive Angel gently strokes through his hair. The volume on the TV is up now, because Castiel had finished with his work and his eyes are too poor to see the close-captioning, small as it is, without glasses, and so he had motioned for Dean to unmute it. He doesn't know who's winning, doesn't much care, and his wings are pulled tight to his sides, shutting off the vulnerable underneath, and he's picking at the edge of the cushions.

Castiel can feel Dean's tension as well, the anxious skip to his heart whenever Castiel takes a breath like he's about to speak, only to let it out, barren and without noise. One of Dean's wings is stretched far across his own body, soft and comforting and a warm shield from the outside world, his silent and understanding companion, and Castiel takes another breath.

"Several of the Chiefs of Medicine are flying in next week," he says, sighing heavily and sitting up, and without a word Dean switches the TV off, eyes that are so much brighter and ringed with gold now that his body is free to produce mating pheromones, landing on Castiel's face. "These are the people who are, basically, going to determine where I go next, since I'm up for promotion, and they'd wanted to meet me. And, well, one thing kind of led to another, and my Chief kind of…invited them all 'round here."

Dean raises an eyebrow, head cocked to one side. "And you can't refuse," he says, voice already heavy with understanding, "'cause he's your boss." Castiel nods, worrying his lower lip between his teeth, his wings still arched so tightly and with such anxiety. Dean watches him for a long moment, brow furrowed as he takes in every detail. "There's more, isn't there?"

The dominant Angel sighs again, nodding his head. "Granted, I have only ever met three of the five attending, but they are the most…" His jaw clenches, his fingers curling into the edge of their sofa, and his wings give a single, sharp snap in anger and frustration. "They are possibly the most chauvinistic, misogynistic _animals_ I have ever had the displeasure of meeting."

Dean sits forward, rubbing a hand over his face. "Like against women or against submissives?" he asks, although he is pretty sure he already knows the answer – Castiel can put on a poker face in front of any kind of prejudiced behavior, he's sure, but -.

"Against submissive Angels," Castiel replies with another snap of his wings, anger turning his words into a growl. "I don't want you to be around that."

Dean sighs, golden-colored wings fanning the air gently in an attempt to calm his mate, warm feathers soothing over Castiel's, which he can feel bristling in response to his anger. "Hey, I'm a big boy," he says, forcing a lopsided smile to his face, "I can take care of myself."

"I _know_ that," Castiel huffs out with a subtle roll of his eyes, "but you shouldn't _have _to. And it makes me angry to think about what they might say to you or about you or how they'll treat you…" He huffs out another angry breath, slowly uncurling his fingers from the edge of the couch cushions with what appears to be great effort. "And it's not just that, but what if they bring their wives or their own mates? So many, in one place – you always give such careful consideration to my instincts, Dean, and my feelings: how can I not be the same way?"

Dean swallows hard enough to hear the click in his throat. "It's…it's fine, Cas," he says, though he sounds unsure – his pheromones have far from settled down, after all, after he had gotten rid of his suppressants and gone onto new medication. The flush of natural pheromones into his system had, he'll admit, thrown him for a bit of a loop – things that hadn't bothered Dean before now pissed him off to no end, and while _before_, he knows he would not have reacted at all to the presence of so many submissives in his own nest, he cannot help but feel dread at the idea that that could change. Dean's claim on Castiel is still so new, only weeks old as far as their pheromones are concerned, and the presence of so many equally-fertile options for his dominant – the thought of them – is already causing his body to flush warm in possessive heat, his feathers rustling in restless desire. He wants now, now that he is thinking about it, more than anything, to kiss Castiel, and mark him, _cover _him with oil so that they both know just exactly who belongs to whom. "Would you like me to make myself scarce? So that you can greet your bosses without me?" he asks.

"Of _course_ not," Castiel hisses in reply, sounding almost angry at the suggestion, and his eyes are brilliantly dark, pupils flaring wide as he looks at Dean. "I am not ashamed of you, nor should I be."

Dean can feel his face flushing, and unwittingly his eyes are dipping down in response to the challenge in his dominant's stare, his wings flaring out in invitation. His body, still unbearably sensitive to even the smallest flash of arousal, shivers in want and he can feel himself clench, slickness and heat soaking into him from within.

"_God, _look at you," the dominant Angel whispers before Dean can say anything, his eyes roving hungrily over Dean's body, taking in his red blush, the gold of his wings, the darker honey and blonde on the underside where they're shiny with oil. His nostrils flare wide, the scent of Dean's fertility and desire so potent and so Goddamn inviting, Castiel knows it would take a much stronger Angel than him to resist it. He slides closer along the couch, feeling like a predator, like something needs to be proven, now, to Dean, and he catches Dean's mouth just as he feels his mate about to tilt his head to one side, throat exposed. Eagerly Castiel closes his hand around the back of Dean's neck, angling his mate and Dean follows the subtle, undeniable press of Castiel's body over his, forcing Dean to slouch on the sofa so that his body falls under Castiel's, and he can feel the heat of his mate's body surrounding him, closing him in, shielding him from sight under the thick, black thatch of his wings. "You have no idea, Dean, no idea how beautiful you are." Castiel's hands are turning rougher, nails digging through Dean's clothes harshly enough to make the younger Angel hiss, body arching closer to Castiel's to avoid the painful drag and mark of Castiel's nails. Another kiss silences Dean's answer, the dominant Angel biting down on Dean's lower lip, his nostrils flaring wide as he scents the arousal slowly saturating the room, coming off of his mate's shaking wings.

Dean is blushing – always does whenever Castiel starts in on how beautiful he is, doesn't believe it for a second but he'll let Castiel be biased. His fingers are gentle where Castiel's are rough, loosely threading through the other Angel's dark hair, pulling him down and keeping him close. He can sense the tension thrumming through Castiel's body, knows his mate is about three seconds away from taking flight, or getting too rough for Dean – needs to calm him down, direct his attention away from the situation, stop the angry snarl he can feel building in Castiel's chest.

"I'm yours, Cas," he murmurs, his nose pressed tight to his mate's throat in supplication as Castiel shudders, head bowed, wings curling around Dean in response. Castiel's hands have left Dean's neck, instead dragging down his body, curling around the new softness in his flanks. Dean can feel Castiel's cock against his own, the dominant Angel hard and so warm when he exhales against Dean's hair, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "As much as you need from me, you know I'll do it."

The dominant Angel sighs, closing his eyes as he gently nuzzles at Dean's hair again, pushing his head back far enough that he can claim Dean's mouth in another kiss. He knows this, too – as many things as Dean is, he's a pretty good actor when he wants to be as well. Castiel knows that with just a word from him, Dean can put up a front for these other men, other Angels – he can be the cowering, simpering, _submissive _Angel that these men want to see, and he would, if Castiel merely gave the word.

"I don't want that," Castiel replies, and though he means it, he thrills just a little at Dean trusting him that much, loving him that much, that he would allow himself to be treated as little more than a house slave for the sake of Castiel's reputation. The idea appeals to Castiel's more base instincts – something he has always prided himself on controlling, and yet cannot help but acknowledge as something that is a part of him, something that will not simply go away. "I want _you_, with your smart mouth –" A kiss to Dean's lips, then, softening the blow, and Dean is smiling – grinning, actually, eyes bright with mischief. "- and your cockiness –" Another kiss, lower now, to Dean's throat, his mate eagerly baring his neck to Castiel's tongue and teeth. The dominant Angel barely restrains himself from laying a mark there for all to see, though he doesn't know how much longer that kind of strength will last, the closer the night gets. "- and your undeniable need to piss people off."

At that, Dean laughs – loud and light, his wings fluttering with mirth, and Castiel cannot help but smile back. "Careful what you let me get away with, Cas," the submissive Angel teases, tucking his wings underneath those of his mate and kissing him again, back bent and one arm flung out behind him to hold him steady. Castiel's strong thighs are pressing tight underneath his, spreading him wide, and Dean knows that darkness in Castiel's eyes as sure as he knows his own name.

He arches his wings high over his shoulders, second arm joining the first as he leans back and allows himself to slide more firmly into Castiel's lap, the dominant Angel's hands flattening around the small of his back when he then leans up, wrapping his arms around Castiel's shoulders. Like this, seated so tightly against Castiel, he can feel his mate's need easily, hot and hard between his legs, and just one roll of his hips has Castiel's eyelids fluttering.

Dean grins wide, catching his mate's mouth in another kiss, his wings wrapping wide around Castiel, this time pinning the dominant's tight to his sides so that it is Castiel now being covered in Dean's scent – and Dean is soaking into him, oil from his wings and slick on his ass wetting his clothes, slick to his skin, soaking into Castiel's. Like this, he knows he is satisfying his base need to scent Castiel, mark him as his own, and from the darkness in Castiel's eyes Dean's pretty sure Castiel gets it, too – the only reason he doesn't protest when Dean pushes tight to his body but snarls at any attempt to remove their clothes. No, Castiel will reek of Dean by the end of it, the submissive Angel vows to himself, needs to know that _anyone _will be able to smell Dean on Castiel, and vice versa.

Like this, it takes longer to get Castiel off – the other Angel is older and less sensitive than Dean, especially with Dean's new pheromones ripping through his blood and setting every nerve-ending on fire. But Dean is determined – his wings wrap tight around their shoulders and heads, oil slicking through Castiel's hair and his wings like they're standing in the last remnants of summer rain, the air still dewy and moist from a storm. Castiel's mouth is warm, demanding against Dean's, his fingers buried deep and curling tight around Dean's oil glands to milk him, until the submissive Angel is almost voiceless with how many cries he has muffled against his mate's mouth and neck. When Castiel finally goes still, shuddering, his wings flexing in release, it is Dean who lets out a satisfied sigh, relaxing in his mate's arms and content that he has brought his dominant pleasure and staked his claim on Castiel, plain and undeniable.

Then, Dean lets out a soft 'oof' of surprise, when suddenly Castiel shoves at him, fingers hooking under Dean's thighs and throwing him onto his back on the couch, and Dean can barely say a word before there are fingers tugging at his sweats, pulling him down and a warm mouth is wrapped tight around his own unsatisfied need. Dean's voice returns to him, then, strong and needy as he tightly laces his fingers through Castiel's thick, oil-slick hair, twisting the dark locks through his fingers in an attempt to slow his mate down, retain some of his control. But Castiel is unstoppable – the dominant Angel's nostrils are flaring wide, able to smell his fertile mate, pheromones potent and strong, and then two fingers are sinking into Dean, easy as anything, and the submissive is crying out, screaming Castiel's name, strong thighs tensed around his head and across his shoulders, and Castiel can taste the bitter-salt-sweet flavor of Dean's seed on his tongue, coating the back of his throat as he swallows, kitten-like tongue flicking at Dean's erection and milking him through the last few shudders.

Castiel slithers up between his mate's legs when Dean is done, boneless and pliant underneath Castiel's hands, as he curls his fingers around the back of Dean's neck and pulls him into a kiss. His fallen sun's wings twitch, arching up tiredly, his fingers tightly clinging to Castiel's head as they kiss, Dean licking into Castiel's mouth and undoubtedly tasting himself left behind. With another contented hum, they finally fall into each other on the couch, breathless and sated and slick, Dean's fingers finally gentling and beginning a now-familiar journey through Castiel's hair and down his neck.

"It'll be fine, Cas," Dean whispers after a while, putting reassurance to the voiceless worry still making Castiel's shoulders tense, his breath too even and steady against Dean's chest.

The black-winged Angel chuckles, tiredly, exhausted. "I'm still gonna worry," he says in an admonishing tone, eyes flashing up to meet Dean's underneath his damp fringe. One hand curls around Dean's hip, then, thumb stroking over the spur of bone and the softness of the submissive Angel just above it. "I always worry about you, Dean. You are very important to me."

Dean flushes, then, sucking his lower lip in to chew between his teeth. His fingers are still stroking through Castiel's hair. "Well, this is important to you, too," he says, too steadily and too slowly like he's carefully trying the words out. "I can handle a coupl'a misogynists for one night, Cas – at least I don't work for them."

Castiel sighs again, resting his cheek back against Dean's chest, his exhale heavy and warm. "I know," he replies, closing his eyes. The hands stroking through his hair are undeniably relaxing, and he can feel the tension of the day draining away from him despite himself, Dean's presence always a calming influence on him now. "But, Dean, please – please, promise me – if they do or say anything to you, or overstep their bounds in any way, or… or anything – you don't have to just grin and bear it. We can tell them so, or throw them out."

"But, Cas," Dean protests, lifting his head to look his mate in the eye, "they're your -."

"I don't care," Castiel hisses in reply, meeting Dean's gaze steadily, eyes steely and grey. "I don't _care_," he repeats, emphasizing every word, and Dean swallows because he doesn't doubt for a second that Castiel means it.

The submissive Angel swallows again, and he wants to avert his gaze from his mate's confrontational stare, but he doesn't because he knows that he can't show weakness in this – Castiel will not tolerate it, he knows that now, and honestly if Castiel doesn't want him to be weak about this then he won't. He can follow Castiel's lead on this. "Alright," he says, leaning forward so that one hand can flatten across Castiel's cheek, thumb resting on the bow of his lower lip. "I promise."

"Thank you, Dean," Castiel says after another moment, like he didn't expect Dean to fold so quickly, and the younger Angel smiles a little, wings fanning the air once before settling again, and then, finally, Castiel ducks his eyes away. He reaches out, grabbing the discarded remote, and flicks the TV back on, settling his head back on Dean's chest, his wings flaring out over Dean's in a reassuring gesture. The submissive Angel sighs, allowing himself to relax underneath the comforting weight of his mate's body, and turns his attention back to the TV – _Man vs Food_ is on – and he tries not to think about the coming week, and if this is how Castiel is _now_, he cannot imagine how tense the other Angel will be on the actual night.


	9. Grit Your Teeth

**Title:** Grit Your Teeth (Part of the Snapshots 'verse)  
**Author:** HigherMagic  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Pairings/Characters: **Dean/Castiel  
**Spoilers:** None, it's AU.  
**Warnings:** allusions towards MPreg, knotting, misogyny/bigotry, heat!talks, harems, vague prostitution allusions I guess like sex slavery?  
**Word Count: **~12,000  
**Summary:** It's the night of Castiel's dinner party, and Dean and Castiel learn a lot more about the older generation's world views then he ever thought he wanted to.  
** Notes:** Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

* * *

Dean breathes out, pressing his sweaty forehead against the now-slippery surface of their couch cushions. His fingers are white-knuckling the middle cushion, curling around the edge of it. His wings hurt, strained from the strong grip digging into his shoulders and forcing them to arch out and backwards, baring himself for his dominant mate. He closes his eyes when, with a low snarl, Castiel thrusts inside of him for a final time, animal noise of triumph and claim muffled against the tensed muscle of Dean's shoulder. The submissive Angel can feel teeth against his skin and he tenses further when he feels Castiel's jaws dragging apart, sharp edge of teeth pressing just too hard against him.

"Cas," he whispers, reaching back, curling one hand around the back of his mate's thigh, as Castiel breathes and covers Dean's wings with his own and finally loosens his bruising grip on Dean's shoulders. "It'll be okay."

The sounds Castiel lets out then is not one Dean thinks he's ever heard from a man, human or otherwise. The dominant Angel's grip shifts to Dean's flank, one hand splaying wide against his ribs, the other burying itself in Dean's ruffled wing in a vain attempt to soothe the crumpled, oil-soaked feathers back into place – Castiel had been more sudden than he usually is, thrown Dean down with little more than a 'by your leave', and he can feel the knotting and twisting of Dean's feathers as a result under his hands. Castiel squeezes his eyes tightly shut, and doesn't reply immediately. Not until he cannot stay inside Dean any longer, too soft to remain, and slips out with a wet sound and a roll of his hips. He wants to stay like this – like this, breathing in his mate's scent, stroking through his feathers – wants to stay inside of Dean, knotted and spilling deep and letting the whole _world_ know just who this beautiful creature belongs to.

"Forgive me," he whispers, voice hoarse and low. Dean's grip tightens just a little in support, and Castiel places a kiss over the bite he laid to Dean's shoulder, before pushing himself upright. They're both still dressed, barely enough skin on show for Castiel to stake his claim, and he helps Dean upright before paying attention to his own appearance.

He feels ashamed, his wings curling in tight to his sides, fingers flexing so that he doesn't reach for Dean again. He should have better control than this, should be more in control of his baser instincts than he is, but he can't understand it – Dean has, somehow, awakened something in him, something primal and unevolved and _violent_, and it's almost scary, how angry he gets at the idea that anyone or anything could capture or lure or _take _what is _his_.

Castiel flinches when Dean places a hand to the side of his face – he had half expected a blow. Lord knows he deserves it. But Dean does not hit him, or ask for space, or leave. Their kiss is gentle, so gentle, belying the bruises on Dean's shoulders and hips and the ache in his wings and the violence thrumming in Castiel's blood.

"You worry too much," Dean says quietly when he pulls away, pupils still mostly black and reflecting Castiel's face back to him. God, Castiel looks a mess, he can see it now, eyes too wide and hair unkempt from the nervous gesture of running his hands through it, and there are dark circles under his eyes. Dean blinks, smiling a little, and kisses him again. "It's just one night – you'll be the man of the house, and I'll be the wife in the kitchen. Simple – a couple hours tops, and then we can forget the whole damned business."

Castiel breathes out again, smiling despite himself at Dean's optimism. "You make it sound so easy," he says, feeling suddenly like he is a lot younger than Dean, and less experienced in matters like this. "I'm looking forward to the 'moving on' part."

Dean laughs at that, breathless, his wings fluttering in affection and mirth. "Come here." The scent of him is comforting and calming to Castiel, musk and sex and honey and Castiel's own scent mingled between. Then, Dean sighs, hugging him close and tucking his own light wings underneath Castiel's larger ones, and for a long moment Castiel can forget.

* * *

"I guess I just don't understand why you're so…why you're wound so tight, Cas."

And that's just the question, isn't it? "I don't know either," the older Angel confesses, with a sad shrug of his wings as he rubs a hand across his mouth, eyes flashing to the worried gaze of his mate. "I guess I just… There are a lot of things to take into account and… And then your pheromones and I just -."

He instantly regrets the words as soon as they come out; Dean's wings tuck in, unsure and defensive, and the younger Angel swallows, eyes darting away. "Oh," he says, and that is all he says, fingers curling and Castiel wants so desperately to speak, to reach out to him and reassure him and hold him and fuck him and mark him and -. "Do you…? I can see about switching my meds back, if you want, or -."

"_No_." It comes out as a snarl, more violent than Castiel had intended, much angrier than he had thought he could be about it – but it does make him angry, that he's letting his mate doubt himself and that he's acting like some stupid knothead who can't think past _other dominants_ being around _his mate_.

Dean swallows again, stepping closer. His wings are loose and relaxed, maybe a little tightly curled, but open and trusting, and Castiel hates himself because his behavior hasn't warranted that trust. "Tell me," Dean insists, his fingers curling around the thin material of Castiel's t-shirt, pulling him in and letting the dominant Angel immerse himself in his eager mate's scent. "Please, Cas, just tell me what's going on with you. Tell me how I can make it better."

Castiel lets out a soft, helpless sound, smiling and shaking his head, but he wraps his arms around Dean anyway. "I don't know how," he confesses. "I just…I just think about them, think about what they might say or do and I…I _can't_." Another sound leaves him, then, short and frustrated and he pulls away from Dean, turning his back to look out of their window. The apartment has a decent view of some of the lower, more domestic parts of the city, but Angels have always traditionally preferred high nests. Something about instincts drives them towards the sky. "I have many brothers – dominance runs in my family, Dean, and I thought I had overcome that part of myself, but then – you -."

"Listen to me," Dean says, harshly, following Castiel to the window and turning him so they are face to face. "I am not _weak_, and you are not _base_, do you understand me?" Castiel opens his mouth to reply, but Dean growls in warning and Castiel, shocked, stays silent. "I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself should push come to shove, and I know you won't let anything happen in this house without our consent."

_"Dean_, I -."

"_No_," Dean hisses, grabbing Castiel's shoulders to get his attention and silence him again. "You made me promise, didn't you? To say if anyone stepped outta line? Well, you have to make one to me, you got it?" Castiel swallows, nodding, his lips pressed tight enough together to white out the edges, until Dean leans in and kisses the expression away. "Just…just _stop_, Cas. You're thinkin' the worst will happen."

"But if it doesn't, isn't that just a pleasant surprise?" Castiel asks dryly.

Unbidden, a small laugh escapes Dean at that, and he shakes his head. "Yeah, but you're gonna give yourself an ulcer or somethin', and watchin' you worry makes _me _worry, and I'm too young to get forehead lines, you got it?" That makes Castiel smile, and acquiesce with a small roll of his eyes. "Good," Dean says, pushing at Castiel's shoulders just slightly for emphasis before he steps away, smile growing. "Unclench, man. It's gonna be okay."

* * *

Castiel is unprepared for the sheer wall of pheromones that greets him when he comes back downstairs.

Everything had been set – Dean had gone specifically to the more high-end local supermarket to purchase a roast for the occasion, one of the places that had people there to help you and for each type of meat there was a selection of wine to buy that was meant to be ideally suited – and Dean had even managed to get home earlier, to straighten and clean everything up and start dinner and, for all intents and purposes, play the ideal submissive housemate. Castiel, when he wasn't bristling with an overly-righteous indignation, was actually surprised how well Dean had taken to it, like a fly to honey and so effortlessly that Castiel had to wonder if Dean had had to play this role before.

He shakes the thought away almost immediately – wouldn't do to get caught up in the 'how's and 'why's of a situation. His head is reeling, now, because their apartment smells really, really freaking fantastic and Castiel knows that only part of it can be put down to the roast slowly simmering away in their oven.

Dean is staring at him, wings arched in a clear display, his eyes wide and almost as shocked as Castiel feels, the new gold in his eyes almost glowing. "Holy shit," Dean whispers before Castiel can say anything, his wings fanning the air to blow his clearly-interested scent Castiel's way, making the dominant Angel take a deep breath, swallow hard to try and control the sudden urge to bend Dean over the newly-made table and do his damnedest to break it.

"What?" he asks, taking the last few stairs down that separates the master bathroom and bedroom from the rest of the place, and he knows his wings are flaring out instinctively, putting on a show for Dean because Dean is clearly liking what he's seeing, and he cannot help but tease at the submissive's clear desire, despite himself.

"I…" Dean coughs, clears his throat, and swallows. Castiel doesn't miss his subtle glance towards the clock, and then back to his mate. "I don't think I've ever seen you in a suit before. Like, a real one, without the lab coat and stuff."

Castiel raises an eyebrow, and looks down at himself. While that is technically true, he doesn't think his attire now is anything of note – same black slacks, a black jacket. The only difference than normal is perhaps the quality – at least another zero on top of it – and the fact that the shirt underneath is black now as well, the tie a darker blue with strings of silver and black embedded therein. Another wave of Dean's enticing scent hits him and he looks up, wetting his lips with his tongue as he notices the barely-restrained desire in his mate's body, in the way his wings are low and spread out behind him.

Dean looks gorgeous, too – he's wearing slacks as well, which Castiel cannot ever remember seeing him in before either, now that he thinks about it, and a green button-down that brings out the shade of his eyes. Of course, he always looks gorgeous to Castiel, but right now his golden wings are arched in clear invitation and he keeps licking his lips like he's trying his damnedest not to eat Castiel alive, and the dominant Angel steps closer, sure to keep his movements measured and unhurried, just to watch the slow dilation of Dean's pupils, black flaring outward.

"Maybe I should wear suits more often, then," he says with a small, lopsided smile, lifting his hand to hook his fingers under Dean's chin, lifting his mate's gaze from his mouth to his eyes. Dean licks his lips again, cheeks flushing, and another wave of scent hits Castiel to accompany the small tremor that runs through Dean's wings. "_Shit, _Dean – seriously?"

"Hey, you've been coming home every night for a week to fuck me before we even say 'Hello'. I got used to it." Almost imperceptibly fast, Dean's eyes flash to the clock again. "Can't help it," he murmurs, his blush darkening. He ducks his head down, forcing Castiel's hand to move, his fingers splaying out across Castiel's chest as he steps closer, curling just enough that Castiel can feel his nails, but not enough to ruffle the suit, and finally – _finally_ – Dean's eyes flash up to meet Castiel's, wide and dark and glowing gold. "I just…_ God, _I just want to _cover _you. I -."

Dean's breathing is getting so shaky, his words so quiet, that for a moment Castiel allows himself to be concerned – after all, Dean is off his suppressants now but has yet to go into Heat, who knows what and when and where the trigger will be: at the rate they had been going, Dean is right, Castiel could have set off his heat just through frequency alone. The dominant Angel's brow furrows and he lifts his hand to rest the back of his hand against Dean's forehead, briefly, then his cheek, feeling his temperature.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asks, unable to quell the doctor in him that is checking Dean over for symptoms of something more serious than being horny. Dean merely takes another breath, his wings curling so close to Castiel's body – so close but not touching because the underside is glistening with oil and he doesn't want to ruin the clothes.

His eyes flash to the clock again, and he makes a small, disappointed sound, leaning in and pressing his lips to Castiel's cheek, briefly, before they separate again with what seems like a huge surge of willpower on Dean's part. "I'm fine," he replies with a casual flutter of wings, but Castiel notices he immediately goes to the windows and opens them all, diffusing the scent of the fertile submissive Angel's pheromones. "I'm just…ah, gonna go upstairs for a second. Keep an eye on the roast, will you?" And then he disappears up the few steps to their bedroom and nest before Castiel can get another word in. Castiel sighs, rolling his shoulders and snapping his wings out, and glances to the clock as well. No, he supposes, they didn't have time. Shame.

When Dean returns, he looks decidedly more in control of himself, even if there is a light blush stained onto his cheeks now and every now and again his wings have to tighten up, lest they spread out low in invitation when Castiel looks at him a certain way. He orders Castiel to set the table of remaining silverware, and some of the dishes are ready and won't hurt to be left out for a moment or two, and it is then that Castiel really notices the layout of their dinner table.

"Dean?" he calls, confused as he sets out – counting to himself – six sets of silverware. When Dean assents, he straightens up, pressing his lips together. "There's only six chairs here."

"Well, of course," Dean replies, poking his head out of the kitchen to roll his eyes at Castiel. "You, and the five."

"What about you?" Castiel asks, leaving his task half-finished and going back over to his mate, his brows already drawing together in instinctive anger. "Where will you sit, and eat? What about their spouses or mates?"

And Dean's looking at him, like Castiel is being adorable, and Castiel knows his wings are puffing up in anger, but he can't help himself. "Cas," Dean says, setting down the heat protectors he had been holding, and instead taking Castiel's hands in his own, drawing them close. "It's just one night. A lot of old-fashioned guys don't let their wives or submissives eat at the table with them. It's…" He shrugs one shoulder, tilting his head. "I don't know. Tradition."

For a moment, Castiel can only stare at him – unbidden, the treacherous thought that at some point Dean had had to live like this all the time rises up inside of him, and anger for his mate's sake burns in his gut. But before he can say another word, Dean is leaning in and kissing him, one hand curling around the back of his head, and Castiel cannot find it in himself to speak again. "The mates and I will be in here, or in the living room with our food and drinks. It's just one night."

"You shouldn't _have _to -."

But, just then, the doorbell rings, signaling their first guest's arrival, and Dean subtly but firmly guides Castiel back to the dining room to finish setting the table up, before he makes his way to the door. Dean has never met any of Castiel's bosses or the other Chiefs, but it is the submissive's role to welcome guests, so he plasters a smile on his face as, one by one, each of them trail into the apartment.

* * *

First there is Crowley – Castiel's actual boss, and a human. His wife is Lilith, also a human, and Dean actually kind of likes him. A little. He's an asshole but he's not a bigoted asshole so really most of what he says is just funny. Castiel defers to him respectfully but earns a few of his own jabs, so Dean figures there's enough of a report there that some good-natured banter won't get him fired. Then comes Lucifer and Metatron, who are apparently brothers though Dean doesn't see much relation between them. Neither of them had brought their mates or wives or whatever so Dean just directs them to Castiel within a moment. Zachariah comes next, and Dean instinctively does not like him. At all. He comes toting on his arm some quiet, shy-looking submissive Angel who doesn't raise her eyes and barely mutters a 'Thank you' when Dean offers to take her coat. She immediately goes towards the kitchen as soon as Zachariah – well, the only word Dean can really use is 'release' – releases her, and the older, dominant Angel tries to grab Dean's ass on the way past.

No, he doesn't like Zachariah at all.

Lastly, there is a woman – a human woman – and a male Angel to arrive. The Angel is very young, almost too young to be mated, and the woman and this Angel are the first to actually introduce themselves to Dean – Naomi and Samandriel. Dean shakes their hands gladly, pleased to find guests that don't appear to have sticks up their asses, and he politely directs Naomi to the dining room where Castiel is. She thanks him, and then gives a kiss to her Angel companion on the forehead, before taking her leave, and Dean remains with the quiet female Angel, Samandriel, and Lilith.

"It is good that you were aware of the situation," Lilith tells him when the dominants and the men are served and seated, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning against one of the kitchen countertops with a raised eyebrow and haughty smirk. "Crowley likes to think of himself as man of the house, and for appearances' sake I let him."

Dean laughs at that, fanning the air with his wings. "The men are in charge, but the women and submissives know what's going on," he tells her, earning another smile.

She hums in agreement, raising an eyebrow in the direction of the quieter submissive Angels. The female that had arrived with Zachariah has yet to raise her eyes, and while Samandriel's wings are plastered tight to his back in polite nervousness, his eyes are darting everywhere, curious, soaking in the nest, and his nostrils are flared wide at the mixed scents. Dean wonders what kind of relationship he has with Naomi, because he doesn't smell like a mated Angel, but there is something tying them together, some kind of bond in place there. Then again, Dean finds it hard sometimes to separate anything from Cas' own mark, so he's not the best person to ask.

"I am glad that Castiel seems to share the same qualities as my husband," Lilith says after another moment, gazing ponderously into her glass of merlot. "He'll go far with someone strong by his side." The meaningful look she gives Dean then makes him flush, fanning the air again, and inwardly he breathes a sigh of relief. Things seem to be going well, despite Castiel's reservations and near apocalyptic view towards the matter.

Yes, things are going well.

* * *

The dinner goes off without a hitch – something that Dean is thankful for. It's a delicate balance, entertaining and cooking and making sure everything is going smoothly, especially with, he learns, a lot of strong personalities, but Castiel doesn't seem to be getting fired so really that's all he can ask for – it's enough to help him put up with the numerous trips Zachariah takes to whichever room Dean is in, stepping too close and asking questions or directions to the bathroom or grabbing another beer when Dean is pretty sure all he would have to do is snap his fingers and the pretty submissive female he brought would come running. Whenever a stray hand makes it into one of his wings, Dean clenches his jaw and just remembers that he can't make a scene 'cause Cas needs this to go over well, so he smiles and rolls his shoulders until Zachariah loses his grip and then scurries off without a word.

"You handle him really well," the female Angel tells him after a while – Dean has asked what her name is many times, but whatever she replies is so quiet Dean can barely hear her, and she seems so uncomfortable being asked a direct question that he doesn't try to keep torturing the poor girl.

Dean shrugs, sighing when she grimaces in sympathy. "My buddy had a friend who'd try and cop a feel a lot of them time. I've learned to handle a few stray touches – it's fine so long as he doesn't take it too far."

"It's not even that, though," she insists, taking a sip of her dark wine that is the same color as her lipstick. Her eyes are on the doorway to the kitchen, her lips pressed together in thought. Lilith had gone to the bathroom and Samandriel had been summoned by Naomi for something, so they are alone in the room. "It's just…you make it look so effortless. All this." She waves her glass-occupied hand, something in her tone like awe. "Your mate is very lucky to have you."

"I'm sure Zachariah appreciates you as well," Dean replies, the lie that they both know is a lie tasting sour on his tongue. The female merely hums in dry agreement and takes another sip of wine. Then, Samandriel returns to the room and catches Dean's attention with a light touch on his shoulder.

"You'd better go in there," he whispers, light eyes wide and wings curled in tight to his back. "He looks close to killing someone."

Dean doesn't need to ask who Samandriel is talking about. Before he even leaves the room a thousand different scenarios have flashed across his mind about what someone might have done or said to Castiel to warrant an outburst from his mate. None of them are good. When he enters the dining area, just slightly breathless, he finds Castiel at one end of the table, glaring daggers at the gesticulating Zachariah, and Dean doesn't really pay attention to what the older Angel is saying because Castiel looks like he's about two words away from killing the guy and his fingers are white-knuckling the tablecloth and he looks like he might bite through his own lip to keep himself silent.

Without thinking Dean goes to him, wing spreading out low across Castiel's own where they're hanging down the back of his chair, and almost imperceptibly he can see his mate stiffen, until Dean's hand rests on his shoulder, and Castiel relaxes. It's weird, how much Castiel's expression changes when he raises his eyes to Dean, an odd mix of relief and aggravation darkening his eyes.

"Yes, Dean?" he asks, reaching up to rest his hand over the one Dean has on his shoulder. "What is it?"

Zachariah has stopped talking, and no one else at the table is saying anything, merely staring at Dean expectantly, so Dean figures whatever was causing the storm on Castiel's face, he may have derailed it for now. He forces a smile to his face and shrugs. "Just wondering if anyone needs a freshener?"

* * *

"Hey."

Dean finds Samandriel again in the living room, absently wandering the rest of the house on his own and admiring the photographs that are hung on the walls. Dean never was one for art himself before Cas came along – sure, he appreciated it, but never really knew what he wanted to be looking at for the rest of his life so he'd never buy any – but when the older Angel had moved in with him, he'd brought his own photos and now Dean can't imagine the walls without them.

The young – God, he is young, Dean thinks, looking at him when Samandriel turns and smiles – Angel greets him warmly, with an affectionate and welcoming flutter of his wings, and it makes Dean smile despite himself. He would be lying if he'd said that idea of other submissive Angels in his nest, around his mate, didn't bother him, and Dean is relieved so far to find that he hasn't been bothered by it. Perhaps it is because the dominants have been largely separated from them, or perhaps Dean just knows that Castiel has no interest in the other two, but he does not feel threatened by either of them, and can't help but think that he would be okay if the female and Samandriel visited again – preferably without Zachariah in tow.

"Hello," Samandriel says, smiling warmly. "Did you manage to calm things down?"

"Yeah." Dean rubs the back of his neck. "About that: what the Hell were they talking about? Cas looked pissed."

Samandriel bit his lower lip, his cheeks flushing slightly. "You'll have to forgive my mother," he says, gesturing towards the dining room, and Dean raises an eyebrow when he finally puts two and two together. "She is an ambitious woman."

"What?" Dean asks, confused. Alright, so Naomi is Samandriel's mother; that explains the relatively unaffectionate behavior between them and why their scents are not so strongly mixed together yet undeniably similar, but they hadn't been talking about her. "What on Earth are you talking about?"

Samandriel's brows furrow in confusion, and he frowns, tilting his head to one side. "The match, of course. I think it struck a chord with your mate. He seemed upset at the idea that I should be matched with Zachariah. Perhaps he wanted me himself." He shrugs. "I don't know. But I'm glad you were able to calm him down."

It took Dean a moment. "You _what_?" he demands, eyes widening. "Your mother _promised _you to that dick?"

"It's not so bad," the younger Angel replies with a shrug. "I get to spend time with my own kind as well. Zachariah apparently has dozens of submissives in his harem. And I just have to spend a couple nights a month in his bed." Another shrug. "Could be worse."

"Oh my God." No wonder Castiel had been so pissed off. Dean couldn't _imagine_ a worse fate.

"You'll understand when Castiel starts his own, after all," Samandriel says after another moment with a slight smile. It seems genuine, and caring, and Dean is sure he doesn't mean to wound with his words but they hit like a blow to his face. "My mother says all dominants do, eventually. It's, I don't know, instinct for them, or something."

"I…" Dean's mouth is so dry, and he licks his lips to try and get enough moisture to speak, but he can't. Samandriel has convinced himself of this, he can see it in the other Angel's eyes, see that he believes every word he is saying. "I have to go."

"You could always come stay with us," Samandriel calls to Dean's back. "At least you'd know what you're getting into."

Dean feels sick, sick to his very stomach. He knows it's a lie – he _knows, he knows_ – but it sickens him to know that someone's own mother would sell them to that life. Harems are mostly illegal nowadays – put in place for Angels who never found their True Mates – but still there are some in the Midwestern states and down South and Dean doesn't know where Zachariah hails from but it's entirely possible that he has his own brood somewhere to himself.

He pours himself three fingers of whiskey and downs it, the burn helping to center him even as he gasps, leaning over the kitchen countertop. His wings are shaking and he feels hot, skin prickling under his clothes. Another blind dumping of whiskey into his glass, and that goes down too and he feels a little calmer. Still hot, flushing red and warm, but less shaky and his breathing is evening out again.

"Shit," he whispers, running a hand over his face and across his mouth. Dean takes another deep breath, fanning the air slowly to try and cool himself down, and closes his eyes. _It's alright_, he tells himself. _That's just a lot of old-fashioned bullshit. _

He understands, now, why Castiel was so pissed off at Zachariah. The older Angel must have been describing his harem, or talking about his deals, or, fuck, Dean doesn't know. If Dean had known that, he may have done nothing, and allowed Castiel to be overcome by his anger. It was fucking disgusting.

His fingers are shaking again and he feels a mild sense of panic when he realizes that the hot, moist flush on his skin is not just at the small of his back and across his face. No, it's in his wings too, and when he shifts he can feel the undeniable, recognizable wetness around his ass.

_Shit_.

There's no way in Hell he's turned on listening to some barbaric old-fashioned shit coming out of a barely-legal Angel's mouth. No – fuck, maybe Castiel had been on to something. Maybe Dean should have recognized the signs earlier, but it had been so easy to brush off and _God_ this is the worst timing _ever _and it's been so long since he's gone into Heat he'd almost forgotten what it felt like.

The Angels, if they haven't smelled him yet, will do soon enough. If he can time it right, wait until Zachariah goes to the bathroom or if the evening's close to wrapping up, he can sneak upstairs and wait out the night until Castiel either smells him and sends the guests away, or guests or not he comes upstairs to help Dean out. He still has some scent masking gel (from that first year) and a few toys (just in case); he should be alright for a couple of hours.

It would be just his luck that he takes a deep breath, steels himself to rush upstairs, and exits the kitchen only to pretty much collide with Zachariah.

"Oh! My apologies," the older Angel says, voice silky and slick like an oil stain and it has Dean shuddering with revulsion, when his hands land on Dean to steady him, palms too dry and touch too harsh against his forearm and wing. "I should really watch where I'm going."

Dean can't raise his eyes – fuck, this is it, the natural submission and instinct to drop to his hands and knees, fuck, Dean has never been so terrified of his own body before. The scent of the dominant Angel, unappealing and foreign as it is, is still very decidedly dominant, and Dean's eyes are firmly fixed on the floor. He can feel his cheeks flaming red.

"Yeah, well, I'll just be -." And he's trying, so hard, to twist out of Zachariah's grip, wings tucked as tight as he can get them to his sides to dissuade the other Angel's touch, but his back is to the wall now because he can't keep himself steady and his breathing is starting to pick up, which just forces more of the dominant's scent towards him.

"What's this?" Zachariah's tone turns curious, for a second, and Dean can hear the obnoxious, tell-tale sound of him scenting the air, scenting _Dean_, and Dean wants to be furious, wants to lash out and snarl at him and beat the son of a bitch to a bloody pulp. He manages to get his arms free, fists clenched and pressing back against the wall. "_Oh_." Dean closes his eyes, swallowing, and breathes out through gritted teeth. "Oh, _wow_." Another exaggerated inhale, and he sounds close, way too close for Dean's liking.

"Get the Hell away from me," he hisses, voice low and rough and he's about two seconds away from lashing out, he can feel it in his fists and he just really, _really _doesn't want the creep to touch him, because what if Castiel sees, or smells it on him later, or what if Castiel decides to just let him go to Zachariah because he thinks Dean wants that, or what if he doesn't get here and Dean has to fight but he's so damn tired and hot, fuck, he's _burning_ now, the dominant's pheromones relentless and sharp and they sting. Zachariah doesn't smell like Castiel at all – he doesn't smell like Dean, but wine and meat and cigars. He smells like _other Angels_, and not Dean, and Dean doesn't like that one bit.

A palm presses against the side of his face and Dean slaps the arm away, eyes flaring open in anger. "I _said_," he growls, "get away from me. Don't fuckin' touch me."

"Oh, so you _do _have a bite on you," the smiling Angel replies, practically glowing with glee and Dean hates him, wants to smash his fist into that smarmy face. "I bet you're a real firecracker, too. You'll look so good hangin' off me."

Dean wants to vomit at the idea – of this Angel knotting him, breeding him during his Heat and tying himself to Dean. His knuckles are white. "I'd rather choke on a dead guy's knot than take yours," he spits, straightening. He needs to find Castiel – needs his mate's scent and his hands and his mouth and his cock and -.

"Dean!"

Oh, God. Dean breathes out in momentary relief, and turns to face Castiel. "Cas, I -."

"Go upstairs." Castiel's face looks stormy – he looks like he had at the dinner table when Dean had interrupted. He looks dangerous, and dominant, and Dean's wings flare out. "Dean," Castiel bites out, reaching for him and all but hauling him away from the wall and behind the other Angel, away from Zachariah. His nails biting in Dean's wrist are somewhat grounding. "Get the fuck upstairs, right now."

And Dean shivers, and submits with a soft sound, because the Heat is hitting hard. Castiel smells like other dominants too – the two Angel brothers and this smarmy dick, and the scent of the other submissive Angels makes him want to lash out, cover Castiel, soak into his skin and mark him back. So he goes, desire to submit to Castiel's orders hitting him hard, and he can only hope that Castiel doesn't take too long because honestly Dean feels like he might just explode.

* * *

"How _dare_ you," Castiel snarls, his wings snapping out in clear threat. He feels like he's seeing red – how _dare _this presumptuous _bastard_ come to his house, _his nest_, and not only carry out a match-making in his presence, but also attempt to seduce his clearly in-Heat mate? If Castiel had any less self-control, he would not have hesitated to beat Zachariah into the ground, job and career or not. "How _dare _you touch him?"

Zachariah is still smiling, shrugging his wings out and holding his hands up in a placating gesture. "Forgive me," he says, sounding unrepentant, his smile wide, eyes flashing in obvious pleasure at Castiel's anger. The younger dominant Angel can see it in the set of Zachariah's wings – he finds Castiel's attempts to threaten him amusing, knows he has a power over the black-winged Angel even if Castiel might be physically able to beat him. "But you've been barely paying attention to him all night. Anyone could have seen he was ripe for the picking."

Castiel bares his teeth in anger, another wave of rage washing over him, hearing this ass talk about Dean like he's nothing more than a crop for harvesting, a prime cut of meat at a restaurant – something to be devoured, used up, and discarded when he is no longer of value. It makes him sick to his stomach.

Zachariah's words are the only thing keeping him alive right now, as far as Castiel is concerned – mixed in with his anger is shame, because the scent of Dean's Heat is heavy in his nostrils and coating the back of his throat like honey, and even now he knows his mate is waiting for him upstairs, cruelly denied what Castiel promised he would give him if Dean allowed himself to be vulnerable like that. Castiel is ashamed, because he encouraged Dean to allow this biological Hell to be inflicted on him and instead of helping him through it now, as he promised he would, he is standing here trying to stop himself killing someone.

"I didn't realize he was your favorite."

"My _favorite?_" Castiel hisses, remembering Zachariah's speech at the dinner table earlier, about the many submissive Angels in his care and how he had chosen to take the female accompanying him – Ruby, he'd called her – because she was in Heat soon and he wanted to breed her out. He talked about her like she was a brood mare for sale, had even asked Castiel if he was interested, and _fuck_, does he think Castiel treats Dean the same way? Does he think Castiel has others? "Get the fuck out of my house."

"Castiel, -."

"No," Castiel says, raising a hand to stop the protest – he thinks it might be Crowley trying to calm him down, but the red is darkening in his vision and he thinks if Zachariah says one more word he might kill the Angel. "Get out of my house, right now."

"Fine," Zachariah says with another casual shrug of his wings. Almost as though she was waiting to be summoned, the submissive Angel female he had brought appears behind him with his coat and she puts it on for him. Zachariah looks unruffled, almost at ease, and he smirks when, after another second of hesitation, Samandriel takes his place at the dominant Angel's other side. "Thank you for a lovely evening," he adds with an imaginary hat-tip, and Castiel thinks he might have just stifled his snarl.

After the three of them leave, Naomi, Lucifer and Metatron are not long in following. Castiel feels a pit in his stomach, knowing he has probably burnt pretty much all the bridges in transferring to any of their hospitals, but when it is just Crowley and Lilith remaining behind, his boss catches him as they are leaving with a hand on his shoulder.

"Crowley," Castiel says before he can speak; "I am so, so sorry. God, I -."

"Oh, do shut up, mister Alpha monkey," Crowley replies with a wave of his hand. He's smiling wide and Castiel cannot understand why. "I just wanted to congratulate you."

Castiel's brow furrows. "Congratulate me? Why? God's sake, Crowley, I almost -."

"But you _didn't_." Crowley raises a finger, tilted his head to one side with an expectant expression on his face. "Self-control in the face of idiots and dicks is an occupational requirement at our level, unfortunately, and even though there were extenuating circumstances that, even with my infinite brilliance, I could not have foreseen, you still managed to keep relatively calm. I'm impressed."

"You…" Castiel can't understand it. "This was a _test_?"

Crowley snorts, smirking. "Of course it was, Castiel. You think I'd invite my peers to an apartment when I could rent a banquet hall? You impressed me tonight. I think you impressed a lot of people, too." He claps his hand on Castiel's shoulder again, and the Angel can't decide if he wants to hit Crowley or hug him – maybe both. "Go take care of your mate now, Cas. I guess I won't see you Monday, so keep your nose clean and I'll let you know what the partners say."

"I… Thank you, Crowley," Castiel whispers, awed, as he escorts Crowley and Lilith to the door, helping the woman with her coat while Crowley hums and checks his watch.

"Come, darling," he says, wrapping an arm around Lilith's waist. "The night is young!"

She laughs, and throws a wink over her shoulder towards Castiel as they depart towards the elevator, and Castiel closes the door behind them, resting his forehead against it with a heavy sigh. Then, he turns the locks to closed, and latches the chain. He then goes around the main room, closing all the windows, and does an arbitrary job of cleaning the dining room table.

He's a coward.

He wants to go upstairs to Dean, knows Dean has been waiting for him, is still waiting for him, and truth be told he feels high off the knowledge that he had passed whatever test Crowley had set out for him – things had gone…well, just about as bad as he expected in some ways, but in other ways so, so much better. He might actually still have a job come Monday morning, and Dean has finally gone into Heat.

_Dean_. Castiel closes his eyes, breathing deep. He can just sense the edges of Dean's scent in the living room, faint but there, and his fingers curl around the edges of a chair, steadying him. His mate is upstairs, waiting for him, and he's down here buying time because he's such a fucking coward, he's not sure he can look Dean in the eye.

He'd _promised_. Dean had promised to say if something was up, if the dominants or any of the guests were proving to be trouble. Castiel had been able to smell Dean's distress, but had chosen to ignore it, because Dean had _promised_ that he would come to Castiel if something happened that he couldn't handle. And yet, Zachariah would have probably sealed himself away with Dean and Castiel might never have been the wiser. Castiel hadn't been able to stop that, stop Zachariah touching Dean, and speaking to him in that awful way, and now Dean is in _Heat_ and he's breaking another promise to be there for him and help him through it.

Dean must be scared, or at least nervous. Castiel knows he hasn't had a Heat since he was what, eighteen? Never lost control like that since he was a teenager. Now his body is probably punishing him for that, burning him from the inside. As a doctor Castiel knows each and every detail of a submissive's Heat, and all the things that can happen to them, both physically and mentally, during it. The thought of leaving Dean to suffer that alone makes him want to be sick.

He takes another deep breath, forcing his mind to calm down. He'll make it up to Dean – any way he can, he will. Dean is his everything, and he never wants that to be called into doubt again, by Dean or anyone else.

* * *

Everything is burning.

Dean had shed his clothes immediately after closing the bedroom door behind him. He feels too Goddamn hot, and his wings fan the air frantically to try and create some air current to cool him down, but it's not working. His body is in open rebellion against him, he is sure of it, and his cheeks and chest are flushed red from warmth and pretty much the entirety of his inner thighs are coated with his slick. It feels different from when he had gone off his suppressants before, and his body had begun to respond to his mating urges the 'natural' way – more…visceral, more violent. He feels like he wants to go flying and fight the biggest thing in the sky. He wants to fight, land punches to someone's flesh just to hear their blood vessels bursting – he wants something big enough, powerful enough, to hold him down and force his submission even though he's pretty sure his body would bend to anything at this moment. The defiance and the fear and helplessness he's feeling – it's different. He doesn't feel powerful like he does when Castiel smells his slick and Dean can see the desire on his face and in the set of his wings. He doesn't feel like he's the one in control – no, instead he knows that if Castiel came in right now and told him to drop to his knees, he wouldn't even hesitate. And that thought scares him.

He's too fucking hot. With a low snarl of frustration, Dean seals himself in their en-suite bathroom and shoves the shower onto the coldest setting and steps inside. The icy water beats down on him like a punishment and his skin is getting redder from it, but he can't find it in himself to care, because damn it, it's _helping._

It is between one second and the next, that Dean is standing upright, head tilted forward to protect his face from the icy shower of water, and then he is suddenly kneeling, gasping hard, his fingers fighting for purchase on the sides of the tub, his wings shuddering in response to the feeling of the icy-cold water and trying to shut off his sensitive back from it. The surge of Heat had been huge, then, enough to send him to his knees, and Dean trembles – if this is what it's like on the first day, God, how will he handle the rest of it?

"Dean?" Dean lets out a soft, broken sound when suddenly the water shuts off, and there are hands on his shoulders, pulling him up and out of the tub. Dean tries to follow, but another blow hits him like a punch to the chest and he collapses, gasping heavily. His wings are heavy and waterlogged from the shower, dragging along the floor, and Castiel is suddenly so pleasantly warm when Dean feels like he's freezing. Castiel's arms are wrapped tight around his chest, turning him around, but Dean merely protests with a soft sound, leaning in to bury his nose into Castiel's neck. The dominant Angel doesn't hesitate in wrapping his arms and his wings around Dean, despite how cold Dean must be and how Castiel shivers at the feeling of Dean's soaking wings meshing into his, making them moist and heavy. "Dean, what were you doing?"

"Too hot," Dean mumbles, fingers curling in the black shirt Castiel is wearing. The suit jacket and the tie are gone but the shirt and slacks remain and Dean can't find it in himself to care anymore about ruining the clothes – Castiel's scent is muted under the smell of the water, but it's still very much there, warm and safe and familiar and Dean wants to bury himself in it. "Cas, I'm sorry," he whispers.

"Sorry?" He can hear Castiel's voice against the top of his head, feel it vibrating in his throat, and he hums in agreement, burying himself deeper into Castiel's arms. God, he never wants to come up for air. He feels exposed like this, naked and vulnerable and Castiel still clothed, but he wouldn't move now for Hell or high water. "What for?"

And Dean laughs – a short, sharp sound, shaking his head. "For having, like, the worst timing ever," he says with a self-deprecating smile, and Castiel's arms merely tighten around him. "For messing the whole dinner up. For -."

"For not telling me you were being pretty much molested by that bastard?" Castiel's words have a bite to them, a hard edge, and immediately Dean tenses up. His eyes close, and he makes to move away, but Castiel's arms tighten and his body is warming up again and he stills in instinctive need to not disobey his dominant's wishes. "You promised me, Dean," Castiel continues, anger clear now in his voice though he hasn't moved, and his hands remain gentle, splayed out along Dean's back. "You _promised_ that you would tell me if they were behaving in an inappropriate manner towards you, but he had you backed against a wall and you said nothing."

"Cas, I -."

"And going into _Heat_, as well?" the dominant continues, like he can't hear Dean, like he needs to say all of this now or he'll never do it. Dean quiets, shoulders tensed but willing to listen because Castiel's had to deal with a lot of shit today, and Dean can shut up and listen. "He could have done something to you, Dean – touched you, he could have…" He can't say the word, but his arms tighten and he dips his head to press his cheek against Dean's, his wings tightening as well. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Dean swallows. "Your job –. It was important -."

"_You _are the most important thing in the world to me, Dean," Castiel says, finally leaning back far enough that he can look Dean in the eye, hand hooking under Dean's chin to force their eyes to meet. "I would never have forgiven myself if he had done something to you, and I am angry that you chose to try and handle it yourself, rather than at least letting me know what was happening. I could have helped you avoid him, at the very least."

"I don't need protecting," Dean replies, unable to help himself, and he sounds snappy but he can't help that either. His wings fan the air in aggravation. "I handled myself long before you came along and if you ever decided to…expand, I guess, I could do it again."

Castiel blinks at him, swallowing back his instinctive barbed response. "What do you mean?"

"I mean a _harem_, Cas," Dean snaps in reply, pushing his wings out again so that Castiel has to let go of him, and he leaves the bathroom, tugging on a pair of sweats because the heat tremors seem to have abated for now and he is _not _having this conversation stark naked. "And I know -." He holds up a hand, silencing Castiel's reply. "I know you're not like that, and you will never be like that, but I just…" He pauses, rubbing a hand over his mouth, and shakes his head again. "It just got to me, I guess. The deal with that kid and that smarmy dick and I just…" He takes another deep breath, looking back towards his mate, who is watching him with a guarded expression. "You need to know that I can handle myself too. I was headed up here once I realized what was happening. It was bad luck, that's all."

"Would it have been bad luck, if you were out on your own and I was on a night shift?" Castiel murmurs after a long silence, his eyes searching Dean's face for a long while before he responds: "What if I hadn't been here, and you were on your own, and someone broke in? Or what if I was at a conference, and you got sick? I am a _doctor_, Dean, and _bad luck_ can be the difference between a patient walking away or dying in a hospital bed, and you think -?" He cuts himself off, swallowing and breathing out hard through his nose, jaw clenched.

Dean watches him for another moment, before holding out his hand without a word. Castiel sighs, taking it, and allows himself to be pulled down to sit next to Dean on the bed. Again, without saying anything, Dean stretches one of his heavy, waterlogged wings across Castiel's back, and the dominant Angel sighs again, leaning forward and scratching his hands over his face.

"Doesn't matter," he mutters after another moment. "Crowley said I impressed him, at least. Apparently my little Alpha-male display was what he was looking for."

Dean frowns. "So your entire career didn't just go to shit?"

"Apparently not," Castiel replies with a rueful smile. "Crowley always was a weird one."

"Well, then, that's good news, isn't it?" Dean asks, frowning. "Why aren't you happier about this?"

"Because I don't appreciate my home life and my mate being used for some kind of psychological screening for a job interview," Castiel snaps, eyes flashing in anger when he remembers what Zachariah said to him. "And I don't appreciate the implication that I do not care for my mate, since it seems like you do not desire my devotion and Zachariah seems to think I do not bestow it on you."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"_You_, Dean," Castiel snaps, pushing himself to his feet and rounding on his mate. Dean's eyes widen, startled at the sudden vehemence, and he leans back on the bed, just enough to create the illusion of distance between them. "I am talking about you!"

Dean swallows, unable to break from Castiel's gaze now. He feels speared, feels exposed in a way he hadn't, even in the bathroom before, like Castiel is gazing into his very soul. "Okay," he whispers, throat dry. "What about me?"

"Everything about you, Dean," Castiel replies, deflating, his wings falling behind him in defeat. "I know you can take care of yourself, but I _want _to take care of you. Then, he moves forward, falling to his knees in front of the submissive Angel, his hands splaying out just above Dean's knees, and without hesitance Dean spreads his legs to let Castiel have room. "I want to devote every part of my life to you, and taking care of you, and -." He breathes out, sharply, before one of his hands lands against the side of Dean's face, gentle and so damn reverent Dean has the fleeting understanding that this is what being made of glass feels like. Castiel leans up, pressing a chaste kiss to Dean's mouth, breathing deep the scent of his submissive. "I want you to know how important you are to me – how much I desire and love you. And I'll be damned if I don't do that."

Another kiss, this one longer, silences whatever Dean might have had to say. The submissive Angel feels warm, blushing under the words of praise and adoration falling from his mate's mouth – Castiel has never said so much about what he feels to Dean before, and it feels like Dean is being consumed, love and joy and power giving him a head rush. He _is _powerful, he realizes – knows that Castiel would change night into day for him, and so when another sharp, hot rush of Heat hits Dean, he does not tense up and try to fight it, but surrenders with a low sound against his mate's mouth, his hands grasping against Castiel's shirt, fingers knotting tight.

Castiel can smell it, too – feel it in the extra warmth coating Dean's wings now and not just the cold water from the shower. With a rough sound he buries his fingers deep into his mate's wings, earning a stuttering exhale from Dean, and Castiel kisses him again, pushing himself to his feet so that he can coax Dean backwards onto their bed, pinning his mate down with his knees on either side of Dean's hips as he rocks down onto him.

His fingers leave his mate's wings, just for a second, to splay his fingers out against his shoulders, and force his arms away from Castiel's clothes. He pushes Dean's arms down to the bed, dragging his palms across his mate's damp, flushed skin, and coaxes Dean's arms above his head, curling his fingers over Dean's when they find the slats of the headboard, and squeeze.

"Leave them there," he rasps, dirty and low into Dean's ear, and Dean nods eagerly, his breathing picking up now, chest heaving, and body trembling. The scent of his Heat makes Castiel feel drunk, rough and needing, breathless in a way that Dean never ceases to make him. He opens his mouth wide against Dean's chest, dragging his teeth across his mate's throat and down, to close around a nipple, and he bites down, making Dean arch and whine and clench his teeth.

He's soaking the bed – Castiel can smell it, and he aches to cover himself in Dean's oils. His fingers, slick and warm from Dean's oil, fumble at the buttons of his shirt but he manages to undo it, shrugging it off his body and tossing it to the floor. His wings shake themselves out, flaring high and wide in a gesture of dominance and victory, and Dean arches his body again at the sight of it, breathless and wanting already and Castiel has hardly touched him.

The dominant Angel knows better than to tease a submissive during his first Heat. Heats are brutal at best, downright torture at the worst, and this is Dean's first in a long while. He might toy with the idea of making Dean wait another time, see how long it takes this proud, fiery Angel to break and beg for him, but not tonight. Tonight, Castiel wants to bury himself in his mate, wants to love him and please him and take him apart.

He presses a kiss to Dean's throat again, and then his mouth, his fingers hooking in Dean's sweats and waiting until the submissive Angel catches on and arches his hips up to allow Castiel to slide them down. Then, he moves off of Dean, taking off his slacks and underwear as well while Dean kicks the sweats off his legs and down onto the floor.

Castiel rejoins him, stretching out his body alongside Dean's, covering the submissive Angel with a wing. He kisses Dean again, reaching up to gently unhook Dean's fingers from the headboard, and places one of Dean's hands against his flank. The other immediately goes to his hair, forcing their kiss to linger until Castiel bites down on Dean's bottom lip, earning a surprised laugh from the submissive Angel, Dean's eyes brightening in affection and happiness. As Castiel watches, his pupils flare outwards, his body tensing up, and the dominant Angel breathes in, greedily, the scent of Dean's Heat. He smells like a female, like grass after fresh rain and honey. He smells like _life_.

Castiel wants to bury himself in him. "Turn over, Dean," he growls, just to watch Dean's eyes darken, and he bites his swollen lips, and nods, rolling onto his stomach obediently. Castiel sits up, stilling just to watch the slow roll of Dean's spine, the enticing curve of his wings, the strength in his tensed thighs and shoulders as he braces himself on his elbows and knees, low to the bed, perfect height to be mounted and fucked and used for Castiel's pleasure. The dominant Angel sucks in a breath, because with his skin bared to the room Dean _reeks _of mating pheromones, and Castiel feels dizzy with them.

He feels frozen, like he can barely move, barely _breathe_. Dean is so beautiful, so trusting in the way his wings fan out low to the ground, on display for Castiel, and the back of his neck is bared to Castiel's teeth, and when the dominant Angel shifts in place to kneel behind Dean, fingers splaying wide and tightening over the spurs of Dean's hips, Dean merely shivers and spreads his legs wider.

Dean reaches back, covering Castiel's hand with his and pulling him forward to rest on the bed underneath them, fingers lacing tight, and Castiel bends forward, kissing at Dean's arched spine, and he closes his eyes, biting his lower lip for the first slow slide into Dean's Heat-soaked body.

Castiel gasps at the feeling of it. It's so much more intense, with Dean's mating pheromones filling his every sense, and everything in his world has narrowed down to the tight, hot squeeze of his mate around him and the way Dean's fingers are clenching tightly around his own, and he drives his wings down to cover Dean, feathers sliding together in a way so intimate it makes him shiver. "Dean," he whispers, feeling like the name is being clawed out of him, his throat so dry. He wants to be gentle for Dean, wants to go slowly and make up for the week or so of insufferable behavior that Dean has had to put up with, but with Dean so close, powerful body pinned down for Castiel's pleasure, he's not sure how long his control will hold. "Dean, please, I -."

"It's okay, Cas," Dean replies, voice low and rough. He's trembling under Castiel's touch, feathers on his wings rustling and rising for closer contact. "Please. Do it."

Slow pull out, slow push back in. Castiel bares his teeth against Dean's skin, pressing his forehead against his mate's sweaty spine, and breathes out harshly. He clenches his eyes tightly shut, hips rolling, wings tightening around Dean. _Slow down_. His free hand tightens around Dean's hip, hard enough to bruise, he's sure, and Dean's heart is beating so fast, God, he can hear it, and the submissive Angel is matching his breathing with Castiel's harsh, uneven breaths, and it feels so Goddamn close and intimate and Castiel wants it to never end.

He does it again, clenching his eyes tightly shut when he bottoms out once more inside of Dean's willing body. His mate is still underneath him, shaking finely but unmoving, willing to let Castiel soak into him, lust and fertility coloring the air the same golden hue as Dean's feathers and the inner ring of his eyes. "Dean," Castiel hisses again, because he can feel it, building up like a coil in the base of his spine – dominance, the vicious need to claim and mark and mate. His thrusts are getting a little faster, Dean's scent clogging up his head, and Dean's fingers tighten around his hand.

The submissive Angel tilts his head forward, baring the back of his neck, and braces himself. "Do it, Cas," he whispers, begging almost, because he feels like he's about to burst into flames and the heat of Castiel's body over his isn't helping, not even a little bit – he needs Castiel's seed, needs his body's mating urges sated, and fast. "Please. Please, Cas, fuck me. Fill me up."

Castiel snarls at that, wrenching his hand away from Dean's hard enough that the submissive Angel lets out a startled sound, almost collapsing on the bed. Castiel uses his other hand to shove Dean's hips down so he's pressed flush to the bed, and climbs over him, knees on either side of his thighs. "Keep your hips down," he growls into Dean's ear, and from this position he can reach Dean's ear, and his neck. He slides a hand around Dean, brushing his fingertips along Dean's jaw, just briefly, before flattening his palm over Dean's mouth. One of Dean's hands curls around Castiel's, but he doesn't try to pull it away, and his wings are still open and trusting, flared wide against their bed. "I want you to be loud, Dean," Castiel whispers, his words containing a hard edge that makes Dean shiver. "I want this," he flexes the fingers of the hand covering Dean's mouth, "to not make a damn difference."

He pauses, then, leaning down and mouthing at the wing of Dean's shoulder blade, baring his teeth. He feels like an animal, now, with Dean pinned so tightly under him, subtle rocking of his hips the only thing Dean will get for now until Castiel is satisfied. "Can you do that for me, beloved?" he asks, then, kissing again at Dean's sweaty spine, and receives an eager nod in answer. "Good."

He uses his free hand to guide his cock back into Dean's body, shuddering at the feel of it, his hand tightening. And Dean lets out this sound – quiet, very quiet, Castiel might not have heard it if he wasn't listening so hard – like a broken, desperate little whimper. And very suddenly Castiel can feel that coil snap.

He fucks in hard, opening his jaws wide and sinking his teeth into the back of Dean's neck, and Dean cries out loud enough that he can hear him, even behind his hand, his shoulders tense, wings jerking in surprise and pain at the action. The sight of Castiel's teeth marks imprinted on Dean's flesh satisfies something dark and possessive within Castiel, and he lays himself over Dean, fucking into him with little more technique than an animal might mount his mate, but if the sounds Dean is making are any indication, Dean doesn't much mind.

He _wants _this. This, Dean under him, moaning and clenching down on him so deliciously, Castiel wants to stay like this forever. Wants the scent of his mate in his nose, wants the feel of Dean under his hands and his wings and the sounds he makes to be imprinted into his very soul. He _wants _Dean, all of him, and the fact that Dean _lets _him takes his breath away every damn time. Dean's hips rise to meet each of Castiel's thrusts, the little amount that he can move, he does, and he's slick with sweat and submissive pheromones and Castiel doesn't want to ever leave him. The desire to stay inside of Dean for longer than it takes for him to come is almost crippling.

"Dean," he whispers, low, almost too low for Dean to hear him, and the submissive tilts his head towards Castiel's voice. "Dean, I want to -." And he hesitates, licking his lips, his fingers flexing around Dean's mouth again. If he doesn't ask, Dean can't say 'No'. If he doesn't do it, they won't have a problem.

But he _wants _to. Good God, does he want to.

"Dean," he tries again, burying his face in the back of Dean's neck and taking a deep breath to try and calm himself. The urge is building up, he can feel the itch to bury himself deep within Dean and never come out, almost overcoming him. He knows, now, if his control snapped, he would knot Dean, but he needs permission first. He _needs _permission first. "Dean, can I -?" _Come on. Ask. _"Can I tie myself to you, Dean?"

Dean lets out another sound, then, from behind Castiel's palm – something rough and violent and _wanting_, and without hesitation he reaches back, fingers digging into Castiel's thigh, and pulls him down, closer, to meet his rising hips. It is a _Yes, _a thousand times yes, and Dean is nodding his head and his eyes are clenched so tightly shut, and Castiel closes his eyes too, kissing at the thin, tender skin of Dean's neck, and whispers a 'Thank you'.

He lets go of Dean's head, then, instead taking his hand and planting it on the bed. He wants to hear Dean, now, for real, and Dean doesn't disappoint him. "Cas," he growls out, encouraging, goading, his other hand still firmly digging into Castiel's thigh. "Do it. _Please, _Cas, want it, want you – _fuck -_."

Castiel can't take it. He cries out, wrapping his free arm around Dean, his wings tightening down around his mate. His thrusts are speeding up, and he's so close he feels like he has to come or die. He can feel it, now, the swell building up in the base of him, making it harder to pull out of Dean with every thrust. Soon it will get too big to pull out at all, but he can still make this last long enough for Dean to enjoy it.

_"Cas_." Dean shuddering, his body clenching so tightly around Castiel, or maybe it's just that he feels tighter because of the swell, Castiel can't tell, and Dean's shoulders have gone tense, his breathing rough and unsteady. The scent of Castiel is everywhere, in Dean's nose, in his mouth, and he can feel the too-far stretch of Castiel now, big, getting bigger. He's braced for it, ready, and Castiel strokes a hand down his flank.

"Dean, relax," he urges, his thrusts slowing but his knot isn't getting any smaller and Dean stays tense, afraid. "Please, beloved, you have to relax or I'll hurt you. I can't…" He stops, then, swallowing hard. "Please, Dean. Please, relax. Let me in."

He's kissing along Dean's spine, hand dragging up and down Dean's flank in a rhythm Dean can get lost in, the submissive Angel's shoulders slowly relaxing under Castiel's careful and attentive touches, until finally, _finally_, Castiel slides in and cannot pull back out. He swells up a little more, the knot growing once his body realizes it's stuck inside the submissive Angel, and both Dean and Castiel let out twin groans of satisfaction and relief when Castiel starts coming, the knot sure to keep his seed inside and undoubtedly prolong the rest Dean will get between flashes of Heat.

Castiel lays down carefully over Dean, tucking his legs between Dean's this time so that less of his weight is on his mate's back, and they can both lay down comfortably without crushing each other's wings or body parts. Dean huffs softly at the feeling of Castiel using him for a pillow, but says nothing, and without a word pulls one of the pillows from the bed under his head, relaxing and breathing through the weird, too-far stretch of Castiel's knot inside of him.

"You ever knotted anyone before?" he asks, because he can't help himself. He'd thought that -.

"Once," Castiel replies honestly. "Many, many years ago, when I was still a teenager." He props his head on his folded arms, looking carefully at the back of Dean's head, and the side of his face where the submissive Angel is staring out the window to the night sky beyond. "Why?"

The submissive Angel shrugs, as much as one can shrug while lying down. "I didn't think you could," he said, swallowing a little. "You'd never…never tried with me, before, I guess, so I just assumed that -."

"I never thought you wanted that," Castiel whispers, looking down. "You'd never really talked about anything related to. Well, to that, or children or mating. I guess I just didn't want to ask and make it look like I wanted something you didn't want to give me." He tilts his head to one side, reaching out with one hand and absently tracing lines between the light dusting of freckles along Dean's back. "I never knew where you stood on knotting, and then after what you said to Zachariah -."

"That was in reference to a very specific person, not the act in general," Dean replies stiffly, until Castiel's palm flattens along his back, rubbing at his shoulders until the mood passes and Dean relaxes again. "I did want it," Dean continues, softer this time, like a confession. "But, well, I guess it works both ways: I didn't want to ask for something you couldn't give me."

Castiel smiles despite himself, tilting his head to kiss at Dean's back, rolling his hips a little in response to a small flare of desire and affection Dean's words brought, urging him to claim his mate all over again despite the fact that the knot is far from deflated.

Dean shivers at the feeling of it, eyelids fluttering. "The Heat's gonna suck."

Castiel hums in gentle agreement. "You should sleep whenever possible," he says. "Soon enough you will not get any rest, and you need your strength. You've been on suppressants a while, and -."

"Yeah, yeah, I've heard this story," Dean interrupts with a wave of his hand and a small smile, yawning against the back of his hand. "Beauty sleep, carbo-loading, I know the drill." And Castiel smiles again, resting his forehead against Dean's back, briefly, before settling down with his head tilted to one side so that he can watch out the window as well. His wings flare up and spread out over Dean's body, to keep him warm – another reason he had chosen to lay over Dean's body as well, so that he can keep the submissive Angel warm with his own body heat since he will cool down during the rest periods enough that he could get sick if he got too cold.

Castiel should get some sleep too, and indeed he feels lethargy tugging at him, prompting his eyes to close. Right before he falls asleep, he hears; "Oh, and don't think for a second I'm letting that 'I love you' line slip, either."

He smiles, chuckling sleepily. "Wouldn't dream of it."


	10. Follow Through

**Title:** Follow Through (Part of the Snapshots 'verse)  
**Author:** HigherMagic  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Pairings/Characters: **Dean/Castiel  
**Spoilers:** None, it's AU.  
**Warnings:** talks of MPreg, knotting, heat!sex  
**Word Count: **~4,400  
**Summary:** Dean and Castiel work through their first Heat, and then Gabriel's in town.  
**Notes:** Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

* * *

If Dean had thought Heats as a teenager had been Hell, he was willing to take it all back and then some now. It was worse; somehow, now that he was with someone he loved and trusted, because his body _knew_. Dean had been far from a virgin when he'd turned eighteen and his Heat had hit, but in that first year between the first Heat and until he went on his suppressants and birth control he had been almost obsessive over being careful, not letting any male Angel's dick within ten feet of his ass. He'd fuck women, dominants, submissives and human alike, maybe let the few more adventurous ones take their turn with toys inside him, but he couldn't allow himself to risk fucking or getting tied to a dominant male while he was so young and very much fertile.

His parents hadn't really approved of his decision to, in their words, 'fight nature's way'. His mother might have understood, but her family was traditionalist and her uncle was a submissive in a large harem and their views on Angel standing and mating and settling down were a little outdated, in Dean's opinion. He'd nest and mate and have kids when he was damn good and ready, and not a second before. Certainly not because he couldn't help but bend over for the first hot-ass to look his way.

Then his suppressants had happened, and the factor had been taken away completely. Dean stayed dry, and tight, and satisfied himself with humans who didn't know any better or Angels who didn't give a shit if he didn't get slick and didn't want them touching his wings. Sure, there was something to be said for cuddling up in his dominant's wings and allowing their fingers to soak into his feathers, but until Dean had met Castiel he would have been willing to forgo that privilege if it meant he would get no unwanted or surprise pregnancies.

Then, enter _Castiel_.

Castiel, who somehow managed to change all of that in a few short dates, where Dean would somehow manage to get more pissed off than he'd been since he still lived at home, and happier than he had ever felt. Castiel who, despite the lack of pheromones and Dean's weird mixed signals, took whatever the submissive Angel dealt him with grace and understanding – who would just as eagerly rip Dean's clothes off and fuck him into the mattress as he would comb his fingers through the younger Angel's hair and watch bad movies and carefully avoid Dean's wings – until Dean pressed the golden feathers into Castiel's hands with a soft, encouraging smile.

Castiel had never hesitated to let Dean set the pace for them, and some deeply-buried part of Dean that had never realized his need for this, appreciated it more than he could ever say. Being born a submissive Angel in a family of dominants and majorist-minded people must have given him a complex, he thought, because somehow even without asserting his dominance and authority and patiently waiting Dean out, Castiel had given him the power and the choice to surrender, and trust, and submit to Castiel in every way that he had never allowed himself to before.

He would never say it aloud, of course, but Castiel made him feel so treasured, and _powerful_, and well, Dean would never say 'No' to that kind of love and devotion – after his first Heat with Castiel, Dean realized that the dominant Angel was just as wrapped up and eager to please Dean that Dean was for him. It was refreshing.

Dean's first Heat lasted four days – shorter than most. They would most likely lengthen as his body recovered from the new hormone surge, Castiel had told him, and they may be irregular over the next few cycles before settling into the usual week-every-three-months routine. Dean had forgotten just how intense they were: when he thought it was over, that Castiel had managed to finally fuck his body into submission and Dean was exhausted, panting hard and sweaty and sloppy-wet from their many rounds and sore from Castiel's knot stretching him wide, another wave would hit, just as strong as the first, and Dean would moan weakly and clutch at Castiel's shoulders and muffle a desperate 'Please, Cas, please' against his mate's open mouth.

So, Dean thought, it was worse with a mate. Because now his body _knew_ – knew what it felt like to have a dominant's seed coating his insides, searching for a barren Angel's egg. His body could remember the feeling of Castiel's strong hands in his wings, across his mouth, gripping the back of his neck tight and shoving him down onto the bed – could recall with dreadful clarity the sharp pain of Castiel's knot filling him, stretching him wide until Dean bit into Castiel's neck to stifle his sounds. He felt every phantom touch, every harsh breath against his shoulder while he trembled in their bed when Castiel would hastily withdraw for food or water, breathless and needy by the time the dominant Angel returned, and had to wait until Castiel was knotted deep in him again to even stop enough for food or drinks.

By the time it finally began to abate, and the flares of Heat grew fewer and farther between, Dean felt like Hell. Because he had never experienced a Heat with another Angel, he didn't understand the instinct to cling to Castiel, to press open-mouthed kisses against his neck and jaw and mouth until Castiel was aroused enough to go again, despite the fact that it was now more pain for Dean than anything else and he bit his knuckles to stop from whimpering. He didn't understand the desire to dig his fingers into his own oil glands and smear it across Castiel's skin – the dominant Angel reeked of him, God, their whole nest reeked of him, but it wasn't enough, not until Dean could paint his name in the honey-like oil on Castiel's flank and bite it into his chest and scratch his stubble against Castiel's thighs when he simply couldn't take any more sex and wrung pleasure from his dominant with his mouth or hands instead.

They were both covered in claw marks and bites by the end of it, Castiel's eyes dulled with exhaustion, and both of them were breathing hard through open mouths, but still Dean couldn't stop. "Please, Cas," he whispered, pawing at the other Angel as his hand wrapped around Castiel's erection, lips against Castiel's jaw, free hand smearing his slick across Castiel's mouth so that the dominant's hard-wired brain could keep it up while Dean forced them through another round. If Dean's body couldn't produce his slick, then Castiel would have no chance of keeping up with him, but with it Dean could force Castiel to get hard again and again until the dominant Angel was whining through his teeth and begging for Dean to stop.

Dean knelt over Castiel, biting harsh enough at Castiel's upper lip, just to get his attention, before he licked into Castiel's mouth. The dominant Angel was sluggish, kissing back just before Dean sat up, straddled over Castiel's cock, and sank down with a low whine of pain.

"Dean," Castiel growled, sounding drunk and strung out on Dean's slick, his hand flattening over Dean's thigh, fingers clenching tight into the submissive Angel's muscles when Dean started to move. "Stop it. This is hurting you."

Dean gasped, tilted his head back to look up at the ceiling, thighs tensing as he pushed himself up and sank back down onto Castiel's cock. "Can't," he gasped out, shaking his head – he couldn't, he _couldn't_, not until he had ripped everything out of Castiel that the dominant had to give him, used him up completely, left him shaking and sore and unable to move, to fly, to -. "You're mine, Cas. _Mine_."

Castiel's eyes were on Dean's face, blackened so completely that Dean, for one stupid, crazy moment, couldn't remember what color they used to be. He was sure he looked no better – flushed and sweaty and in enough pain that he wasn't quite sure he could come again this time, but that didn't matter – Castiel, _Cas_, he needed to come, needed to -.

The dominant Angel's gentle touch splayed across Dean's stomach, then his chest, and then fingers wrapped around the back of Dean's neck and pulled him down. Castiel's gaze was so focused and intense on Dean's face and Dean couldn't look at him – grit his teeth and bowed his head and screwed his hips down to try and force Castiel deeper into him.

"Cas, _please_," Dean whispered, sounding broken and needing, his hand flying up to dig his nails into Castiel's shoulder. "Please, give it to me. I need it. _Please_."

He sounded pained, and Castiel had to wonder just how much of that _was _because Dean had to be incredibly sore. Instead of answering, he surged up to meet Dean's mouth, silencing him in a kiss, and rolled them over, smoothing his hands out along Dean's shoulders and arms to keep him down. The scent of Dean's slick under his nose had him close, his body so strung out on pheromones that he likely would come in minutes, and satisfy his mate as Dean so desperately needed.

Castiel gasped when Dean wrapped his legs tight around his hips, rocking upwards to meet each of Castiel's thrusts – he was desperate for it, an animal and, helpless, Castiel wrapped his arms tight around Dean's body, feeling his feathers ruffle and clump because of the rough touch, and buried his face in Dean's neck.

"Dean, Dean…" One hand wrapped tight around Dean's hip, the other under his arm and around his shoulder to keep him still, Castiel bowed his head and closed his eyes, feeling Dean's sore and shaking body open for him once again, as he forced his knot inside and shuddered as he came. There was barely anything left to him now and he doubted that it would cool Dean's Heat, but he was also beginning to suspect that whatever had Dean so frenzied, so out of his mind with want, wasn't Heat anymore. At least, not entirely.

Dean clung to him, legs and arms and wings wrapped tight so that Castiel couldn't pull away, even when his knot deflated within minutes and the clenching of Dean's body forced his flaccid cock out. Castiel let him, wrapping himself just as tight around his mate and placing gentle kisses to his neck and shoulder until Dean relaxed.

When the submissive Angel finally heaved a sigh, his hold loosening enough that Castiel could move, the dominant Angel did not hesitate to press a kiss to Dean's swollen lips, cupping the side of his face, before he moved and settled on his stomach next to Dean on their bed. They were silent for a while, Castiel catching some desperate rest before Dean undoubtedly demanded another round, and for a long while the only sound was that of their breathing.

"It feels like forever when you leave." Dean's voice broke Castiel out of his doze, and the dominant Angel blinked his eyes open, raising his head and turning to look at Dean. The submissive Angel was on his back, hand rubbing at his eyes to hide most of his face, and he grimaced. "When you would go downstairs, I know exactly where you are, what you're doing and why you're there. I _know_ it, but my body…" He swallowed. "My instincts, I guess, demand I drag you back here and fuck you until you can't leave again."

Castiel breathed out, looking back down at the pillows, and stretched a wing over Dean's trembling body. The scent of his Heat was fading (as much as it could fade when the air still reeked of him) and Castiel knew they were edging towards being in the clear.

"Next time," he said, reaching out and cupping Dean's cheek, turning the submissive Angel to face him, "I will make sure we have a cooler in here, so that I don't have to leave to feed you or get you something to drink."

The look Dean gave him then made Castiel want to pull him close and bring him pleasure all over again, but Dean was sore and, truth be told, Castiel could go for a rest as well. He nuzzled close to Dean, wrapping his wing tightly around the submissive Angel's body, one arm wrapped around Dean's shoulder and curling behind his head until Dean was tucked neatly under his chin.

Dean sighed against his chest, curling his wing under Castiel's so they were wrapped up in each other as another tremor racked his body. "I hate Heat," he said, laughing softly, and Castiel hummed and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

He closed his eyes. "If you don't enjoy it," he began, combing his fingers through Dean's sweaty hair, "we can switch your medication back. I don't want you to be uncomfortable or -."

Dean drew back, cutting him off, and fixed him with a look that Castiel had come to understand meant Dean thought he was being an idiot. "I was joking, Cas," he said, smiling crookedly. "I want to give this to you. I trust you."

Castiel tried to control his answering smile, but given the look in Dean's eyes he wasn't sure he succeeded properly. He rolled Dean onto his back again, kissing him fiercely until Dean was gasping into his mouth and spreading his legs again, fingers tucked underneath the dominant Angel's wings and digging in.

"I love you, Dean," Castiel murmured, for perhaps the hundredth time in the last four days – he had said it so often, gasping it into Dean's mouth and confessing it between Dean's harsh moans and desperate whines, had snarled it into the back of Dean's neck and whispered it into his ear. He loved Dean, good God, how he loved Dean.

Dean's eyes brightened and he smiled wide before kissing Castiel again. He had yet to say it back, but that was okay – Castiel could feel it. Feel it in the way Dean's hips arched and his breath became shaky, in the touch of his hands in Castiel's wings and the slide of their lips together. Dean's body sang his adoration and love to Castiel, like a fine-tuned instrument that only Castiel was allowed to play.

A soft, frustrated sound left the submissive Angel. "I want to go again," he hissed out, sounding irritated and so put out that Castiel laughed, pressing a kiss to his furrowed brow.

"Aren't you too sore?" he asked, a mix of genuine concern and admonishment in his voice – he would not touch Dean until he recovered. Four days of constant sex was a lot to ask for, especially with Castiel knotting him every other round, taxing his body further.

Dean rolled his bright eyes, gold returning to them along with the green. "The spirit is willing," he remarked, making Castiel laugh again. Dean rolled his hips under Castiel's watchful eye, grimacing in pain at the twinge in his ass and thighs. "Mm, fuck, yeah. It hurts. A lot."

"Perhaps we should focus on showering, eating, and then as much sleep as is possible before we have to rejoin the outside world," Castiel suggested, and Dean's eyes brightened at the mention of a shower and food, and Castiel smiled, kissing Dean again before getting up and pulling Dean to his feet. "Would you like to shower first?"

Dean's smile turned into a smirk, and he raised an eyebrow at the dominant Angel. Castiel looked like a mess – as slick as Dean was, his hair mussed and tangled and his feathers sticking up every which-way, he looked freshly ravished. _I did that_, Dean thought to himself, pressing his lips together and nodding. Yeah, fuck, he could definitely go for another round, pain be damned.

"Dean," Castiel said, amused and rolling his eyes. "Focus."

"Oh, I'm very focused."

Castiel laughed, shaking his head. "You're insatiable," he murmured, joining Dean when the submissive Angel held out a hand to him. He allowed Dean to lead the way to the bathroom, both of them stepping into the bathtub that could barely fit the two of them as Dean shoved at the water, covering them both with his large golden wings until it warmed up enough for their skin to withstand it.

Dean caught him in another kiss, meshing their quickly-soaking feathers together in an intimate caress that made Castiel shiver, warmth rushing through him. Dean was slightly taller, his wings wider when at rest, and he could cover all of Castiel when he desired to. It wasn't something that Dean took advantage of often, because even though he was bigger he tried not to use physical threats, and the reminder sent a shiver down Castiel's spine that had nothing to do with the cold press of tiles against his back. Dean was strong, and powerful, and yet he bowed so gracefully and eagerly to Castiel's will – it was a rush.

Castiel combed his fingers through his mate's hair and did his best to straighten out the crumpled mesh of feathers that Dean's wings had become, heavy and sticky with drying oil. The water helped to soften the oil and allowed Castiel to clean them as best he could, but even so some of Dean's feathers fell out from the grooming and his skin felt tacky with seed and oil.

Dean wouldn't stop touching him for hell or high water – the submissive Angel seemed content to merely stand under the spray of water, fingertips splayed wide across Castiel's neck as they kissed: breathless and tired and sated. Once they were clean enough, Dean finally persuaded to part enough for both of them to wash their hair and bodies, they stumbled out of the shower and back into the bedroom.

If Castiel hadn't been so wrung out and tired, the sight of Dean's dripping-wet body and dark, wet wings would have made him want to take Dean all over again. The submissive Angel's neck was bitten red and his lips were bruised from Castiel's kiss, marks sucked onto his thighs turning dark purple. He was marked all over and Castiel was sure he didn't look much better.

Dean caught him staring, and sank his teeth into his lower lip, flushing a little and curling his wings around himself to teasingly block Castiel's view. The dominant Angel just barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes – he saw the challenge for what it was, and would not rise to the occasion until Dean was fully recovered from his Heat, or until another flare rendered the point moot.

"Are you hungry?" he asked instead, walking over to one of their dressers and pulling out a clean pair of sweatpants for both himself and Dean, tossing Dean's pair to the other Angel. "Come downstairs with me: I think there's some spaghetti left over that's still good."

Dean hummed in acquiescence, pulling on the sweatpants without a care for the fact that he was still mostly wet from the shower – the sweats clung to his bruised thighs and hips and there were still droplets of water determinedly clinging to his shoulders and wings, but if Dean didn't mind, then neither did Castiel.

They went downstairs and Dean made a beeline for the fridge, taking out two Tupperware containers of spaghetti, opening them and sticking the first in the microwave, while Castiel went to the door checked that no-one had tried to visit the door while they were busy. He knew the mail would be sitting in the letterboxes downstairs, if there were any, but if someone from Dean's work or a family member who knew where they lived had come, they may have left a note under the door.

There was nothing, but the answering machine light was blinking, so Castiel accessed the messages and put them on speaker.

There were two – one of them mundane, a cold call from Dean's doctor to come back in for a routine check-up and see how his new prescription was working out. Castiel smirked at what Dean might tell him – he could hear it now: Dean telling the doctor all the joys of having more 'natural' sex. Granted, Castiel had no idea how Dean treated professionals but he sure as Hell wasn't shy about other people knowing that he was getting it from Castiel, and often.

The second made Castiel pause. "Heya little bro, it's been a while, hasn't it? Listen, I'm flying East for the winter and I've got a layover in your fair city! Gimme a call when you get this – I wanna hear all about this gorgeous piece of tail you've landed."

Castiel rolled his eyes, barely stifling a groan. "Who was that?" Dean asked, stepping out of the kitchen and leaning against the door jam with his arms crossed over his chest, eyebrow raised.

"Gabriel, my big brother," Castiel replied flatly. He sighed, rubbing a hand over his mouth. "Well, one of them," he amended. "I'm one of six."

Dean whistled low, shifting his weight, a small smile on his face. "So he's gonna be in town soon, huh?"

"I guess." Castiel's mouth twisted – he loved Gabriel, as much as one could love such a huge pain in the ass, and of his five brothers Castiel was closest to Gabriel by far, but there was only a certain amount of the man one could take in one sitting, and Castiel had been desensitized by the fact that Gabriel worked mostly from Japan and they had seen each other maybe once in the past three years. They talked a lot, emails and calls and so on so they were relatively up to date with each other's lives, but it wasn't the same as being in the same room as the other.

"You don't sound too happy about it."

"On the contrary, I am rather fond of Gabriel," Castiel said with a smile, deleting the message and approaching Dean. His wing unconsciously wrapped around the submissive Angel and he pulled Dean back into the kitchen, taking the heated spaghetti and beginning to eat while Dean shoved his own into the microwave. "It's just been a while since we've seen each other – he will likely talk my ear off the whole time. He's a bit…much, for some people."

Dean hummed, pressing his lips together, eyes fixed on the rotating food. "Do you think I won't like him? Or that he won't like me?"

Castiel chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, let's just say I'd never have to worry about you leaving me for him. You'd likely eat each other before becoming friends."

"Sounds like a challenge," Dean replied with a grin, making Castiel laugh again. "But if you want a few days to go meet up with your brother, that's fine, Cas. I can go out of town, visit Sammy and Jess. She'll be far along by now, I think."

Castiel paused in his food, watching Dean as the younger Angel stopped the microwave two seconds from finishing – the timer beep was annoying at the best of times and Dean would usually pre-emptively stop it – and dug out his own fork for the spaghetti, and neither of them spoke until Dean turned around and leaned against the counter only to find Castiel staring at him. "What?" he asked, flushing, wings flaring out in an attempt to distract Castiel's eyes from his face.

The dominant Angel smiled, shaking his head and looking down. "Nothing, Dean," he murmured. "I had not intended to spend enough time with Gabriel to warrant your absence, I suppose, but if you would prefer I'm sure I could entertain him for a few days."

Dean nodded, pressing his lips together before his eyes darted down to his food. "Or," Castiel continued with a contemplative air, "you could come with me. We could both meet him."

Dean almost choked on his food. "What?" he demanded.

"I've met your brother, Dean, why can't you meet mine?" Castiel said, raising an eyebrow. Some horrible part of him that Dean knew would punch given half the chance was amused by the other Angel's reaction – sometimes it amazed him, how eagerly Dean would allow others into his life and was so surprised when they wanted to reciprocate.

"But, I mean…" Dean shook his head, setting his food down and staring at Castiel incredulously. "That's different." He hesitated, because he knew Castiel would ask how it was different and Dean didn't have an answer worth a damn.

"Dean," Castiel murmured, firm enough to grab the submissive Angel's attention as Castiel set his food down also, stepping forward and laying a hand against Dean's chest. "Gabriel is the closest family I have. He already knows about you, how special you are to me and how much I love you. And I want you to meet him."

"Yeah?" Dean took Castiel's hand, fingers curling gently around it. His wings fluttered with happiness and affection in a way that made Castiel smile.

"Bear in mind," the dominant Angel said when Dean let his hand go, touching his fingers lightly to Dean's cheek before putting their empty Tupperware containers in the sink to wash later and leading the way out of the kitchen, "that Gabriel is an incredibly overbearing person. He will probably make you uncomfortable, and angry, and I will sit back and laugh."

"Oh, so it runs in the family then," Dean teased, smacking the arch of his wing playfully against Castiel's an earning a growl from the older Angel. Castiel lunged for him but Dean was quick to dart away, laughing and making a break for their bedroom.

"Get your ass back here," Castiel growled, and followed the sound of Dean's laughter. "I'll make you pay for that."

Dean's Heat may have ebbed away by that point, but Castiel wouldn't have known it for how eager and welcoming Dean was to have Castiel settle in their bed once more, the submissive Angel's nails digging tight into his shoulders and his rough breaths and low growls stifled against his neck. By the end of it, they needed to shower again, and the air in the entire apartment stank of the Angels' mating oil.


	11. Overcompensating

**Title:** Overcompensating (I Feel Like I Should Make A Joke)  
(Part of the 'Snapshots' 'verse)  
**Author:** HigherMagic  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Pairings/Characters: **Dean/Castiel  
**Spoilers:** None, it's AU.  
**Warnings:** mentions of knotting, D/s, Gabriel (I feel like he needs one)  
**Word Count: **~4,600  
**Summary:** Dean finds that his body is kind of freaking out after his first Heat fades away. Also, Gabriel's in town.  
** Notes:** Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

* * *

Morning finds Dean feeling pleasantly sated and warm, wrapped up tightly in the sheets of his bed (which are mercifully dry and warm to the touch) and a cocoon of his mate's thick, heavy wings. They press Dean's wings against his flank too and that just adds to the warmth which he's sure has left his cheeks heat-flushed and his hair fluffy and mussed, but he can't find it in himself to care. He reaches a hand up just enough to curl his fingers over the edge of the sheets, pulling them down enough to see the alarm clock: 7:38. Dean would be freaking out about sleeping so late on a work day, but thankfully he booked this day off too (under the assumption that his heat would have lasted longer than the actual four days that it had) and so he has absolutely nowhere to be.

Luckily, neither does Castiel.

The day is still very young and so Dean allows himself to drift back into a contented sleep, as he shifts and rolls so that he is instead pressed against Castiel's warm chest and can nuzzle against his neck, and Castiel's arms wrap around him in response, but the dominant Angel doesn't wake. _Poor Cas, _Dean thinks with a soft laugh as he drifts off again. Dominants didn't have the hormones submissives had to keep them going, and they crashed harder than the in-heat Angels did sometimes after a come-down.

When Dean wakes up again, the room is significantly brighter with the risen sun and Castiel's breathing is a lot shallower – he's dozing, not quite asleep anymore but not quite awake. He has a leg wormed between Dean's and Dean's head is tucked comfortably under Castiel's chin, but it means that the air around Dean's mouth is stifling and warm, so the submissive Angel shifts, stretching his wings out far behind him, and the movement encourages Castiel's eyes to open.

"Morning," he says, his eyes sharpening as he allows himself to be fully pulled into the land of the living, small smile already curving his mouth as he pulls back to allow Dean room to stretch.

"Mm, mornin' Cas," Dean replies, deflating with a large breath and grinning over at his mate. He feels lazy, and sated, _full _almost, in a way he's almost positive can be put down to the flood of his hormones after finally knotting and sharing a Heat with his mate. He had never even imagined that he could feel this happy – for such a stupid reason that he had always shied away from as well. "How you feelin'?"

"Isn't that my line?" the dominant Angel replies, making Dean laugh and flush again and press his face against Castiel's chest once more. He likes this – this intimacy, he knows he can blame it on the hormones if he wants to, and some part of him wants to cuddle Castiel close now and take care of him and do something to thank him for helping Dean through his Heat – he feels an odd sense of gratitude and awe that Castiel was able to give him something, satisfy his body in a way that Dean was sometimes too out of his mind with need to understand.

Castiel hums, then, drawing Dean in close and covering the younger Angel with his wings. "Are you still very sore?" he asks, worried despite himself, because Dean's body was not used to that kind of strain, especially with Castiel knotting him almost every time, and towards the end the Angel had been far from in peak condition, too needy to stop even though he should have.

Dean makes a non-committal sound, leaning in and pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Castiel's bite-marked collarbone, just to feel the dominant Angel shiver under his hands. Smiling, he splays one of his hands out along Castiel's ribs, pressing just enough that his fingertips can trace the edges of them, and then he moves down, grip turning harsh and digging into Castiel's ass to push them flush together.

The dominant Angel makes a rough, startled sound, feathers on his wings puffing up in arousal despite himself. "Dean," he whispers, voice a warning but not one Dean is willing to heed, so Dean kisses him again – on the mouth, firm and hot and licking into Castiel's mouth as soon as he fights for breath.

"Dean," he says again, stronger this time, hands landing on Dean's arms, but not pushing him back – no, Castiel is pulling him forward, forcing them closer together, and Dean shivers when he feels his body begin to respond to Castiel's kiss and his hands and the scent of his wing oil. Castiel's wings abruptly flare out, eclipsing the light from the windows and Dean can feel Castiel try and roll him onto his back, flatten him out against the bed to fuck him, and Dean snarls against Castiel's mouth, surging upwards and rolling his body onto Castiel's before the dominant can overpower him, his thighs falling on either side of Castiel's hips, spurs of them digging into the meat of his thighs, his hands abandoning their positions to lightly knot in Castiel's thick, dark feathers and force his wings down.

Castiel chokes on his breath, wide-eyed as he looks up at Dean, because Dean has never done this before. He has always bent so eagerly and willingly to Castiel in the bedroom that the dominant is momentarily thrown for a loop at this sudden aggressive behavior. Dean's wings are flared out – not aggressive, but not in invitation either – and he is putting all of his weight against Castiel's wings so that, superior strength or not, Castiel cannot fight back unless he wants to lose some of his feathers.

Dean is smiling still, and Castiel forces himself to relax, curious despite himself at what Dean is planning to do, and the submissive rewards him with a small, affectionate flutter of his wings as Dean loosens his grip in Castiel's, and leans down to kiss against his jaw; "Let me. Wanna make you feel good, Cas."

"You do," Castiel replies, already slightly breathless, and he's sure his voice gives away how much he is awed by and adores Dean, because the submissive Angel's cheeks flush red and he sinks his teeth into his lower lip, eyes flashing down.

Castiel wants to reach for him, so he does, sitting up and spreading his fingers across Dean's tense thighs and across the new softness around his stomach, and his strong chest and arms and through his beautiful wings, and he kisses Dean fiercely enough to make the golden-winged Angel gasp and press closer into the reverent touches Castiel places on him. He feels consumed by Castiel, completely taken over, his body slick and shuddering and _empty_ when he has Castiel so close to him – so close, but not close enough.

_"Cas_," he whispers, knows he sounds desperate and needy but he can't help himself. Since their brief stint in going downstairs and getting some food, neither of them had found the need nor the inclination to get dressed again, and so Dean has to waste no time in pushing at Castiel's shoulders until the dominant Angel falls flat on his back, and then Dean can brace himself and shift just enough that Castiel's hard cock presses between his legs, and he can roll his hips and position himself and sink himself down onto Castiel. _"Fuck_."

Castiel's hands fly to Dean's hips, helping him to settle, his thumbs stroking soothing lines across the crease of Dean's thigh. "Dean," he whispers, rushed and strained, "if it hurts too much then -."

"Nah, Cas," Dean replies, reaching forward and bracing a hand against Castiel's chest, fingers curling just slightly across a nipple, and it makes Castiel hiss, stomach clenching when Dean suddenly tightens around him, a shiver running through his body. "I'm fine – promise. Just…" He tilts his head back, eyes closed, and rolls his hips just to feel Castiel move inside of him, fine twinges of pain around his rim bringing back hot-flash memories of their four previous days. "Just enjoyin' the feel."

"Dean." The familiar warning tone is back in Castiel's voice, but Dean ignores it, bowing his head and deliberately clenching tight around Castiel just to shut him up. The rough sound that action rewards him with makes him smirk, opening his eyes again to find Castiel arched back against the bed, head digging into their pillows, mouth open and gasping.

Smiling, Dean leans down, hand on Castiel's chest sliding upwards to settle across the side of his face, pulling the dominant Angel up to meet Dean as he starts to move – slow rocks at first, getting used to the feel of Castiel and letting his body become accustomed to the stretch of him, but then Castiel is thrusting up too, barely- stifled snarls coming from him as they roughen and quicken their pace – until Castiel's wings are stretching out and Dean's are flared out wide in pleasure and invitation.

Then, Castiel surges up, uninhibited by Dean's hands in his wings now, and makes to roll them over, pressing Dean down onto his back on the bed. Dean lets him, moaning softly at the change in angle as Castiel tucks his thighs tightly underneath Dean's, folding the submissive Angel so that he can put greater power behind his thrusts.

Dean's fingers tighten, in Castiel's hair and around his shoulders, and he suddenly goes tense when he can feel Castiel speed up, erratic breathing and stuttering rhythm letting the submissive Angel know that he's close. He pushes at Castiel, then, at his shoulders to try and get him away – there is something wrong, he feels like. A sense of, of _not right, _or something – something like - . "Cas -."

Something in his voice must tip Castiel off, because the older Angel abruptly stops, buried deep within Dean. His hands are gripping tight and his wings are shaking very slightly, but he looks at Dean with a concern and focus that makes the younger Angel uncomfortable. "Did I hurt you?" he asks, brows furrowed in worry and Dean frowns, shaking his head.

"No," he says, sounding unsure. He doesn't understand the feeling, but every little shift of Castiel's body makes him abruptly aware of the other Angel, and he feels unsteady. "Just…"

"Do you need me to stop?" Already Castiel is pulling away, and Dean feels like his entire being cries out a _No _at that, because he doesn't want Castiel to leave either – doesn't want anything less than no space between them, and a small sound of protest escapes him even as Castiel pulls out and Dean is left gasping, feeling barren and empty and cold. "Dean, what's the matter?"

"I…" Dean clears his throat, pressing down on his chest because it feels like he's getting heartburn or indigestion – he feels like he's going to be sick, but the very thought of leaving his bed and going to the bathroom makes him run cold with refusal.

"I'm fine," he says, finally, after what feels like forever. Castiel's brow furrow and he presses his lips together like he's trying to figure out if Dean's lying to him or not. "I'm okay. Really." And Dean reaches a hand out, flattening his palm over Castiel's shoulder and running it up and down his arm. "I guess I just…freaked out. Like, you were just on top of me and then I couldn't stop thinking about you knotting me and I -."

He cuts himself off, clearing his throat again, because Castiel has gone from looking concerned to alarmed and Dean knows what's he's saying is coming out all wrong – damn it. "I think I pushed myself too hard," he says because he can't think of anything else to say, and this way at least Castiel can't claim it's anything he's done – because it isn't, Dean knows, he just. Well.

"Would you like me to get you anything?" Castiel asks after another long, so long, so silent, moment, and Dean presses his lips together and nods 'cause yeah, come to think of it, he'd probably feel a lot better with some food in him. Neither of them have hardly eaten anything in the past few days. "Alright. I'll be back in a moment. Perhaps you should look into calling and confirming an appointment with your physician. All those new hormones might be doing more to you than you think."

Dean nods, rubbing a shaky hand over his mouth. "Yeah," he whispers, once Castiel is already gone. _God_, he feels like an ass. Getting Castiel all worked up and then just -. He breathes out. No, Castiel isn't like that, he probably doesn't care, just wants to see Dean get better, get himself right again. Yeah. That's it.

A moment later the dominant Angel returns with two glasses of orange juice and a hearty pile of blueberry Eggoes and syrup for the both of them, on a tray, and he sets it down onto the bed between them and separates the stack onto two plates for each of them. He's only brought one knife but two forks, because Dean is a big advocate of not using a knife when one isn't needed.

Dean can feel his wings fluttering in happiness and affection, because sometimes the stupidest little things make him realize just how damn lucky he is to have such a loving and attentive mate. "Thanks, Cas," he says, draping one of his wings over Castiel's shoulders, and the dominant Angel smiles and tucks his underneath, until the coarse feathers tickle at Dean's side.

* * *

"I don't even know what happened. I mean, one minute we were – well, you know – and then the next I totally freaked out on him. Just like that." Dean snaps his fingers, looking over towards the doctor who has her lips pursed, staring thoughtfully down at a clipboard.

"Dean," she finally says, smiling a little and leaning forward to reassuringly pat his arm which Dean would think was a patronizing gesture except he's been going to Charlie long enough that he knows that's just how she works, and that they're on first-name basis now. "I'm pretty sure I know what's going on. I'll just need to confirm it, so." She slides back in her wheely-chair, opening a drawer and fishing around for one of those small plastic bottles that patients leave urine samples in. "Hope you've got some for me," she says, tossing it to him.

Dean smirks, rolling his eyes. "I'll be back in a sec," he says, standing and flicking his wing at her just because he can and it makes her laugh when he tickles her with his feathers, and then leaves to go do his business. When he comes back she immediately takes it from him and fishes around for another bottle, this one full of thin wooden sticks, and a color chart. "Whatcha testin', Doc?" he asks as he takes his seat again.

Charlie hums, selecting one of the sticks and pressing it into Dean's sample, sealing the lid again. "I have a theory. I think that, because you went so long on the suppressants and birth control and everything else, your body may be overcompensating for it now." Sure enough, the stick is turning a different color, and Charlie slides on a plastic glove to open the sample pot and pull out the stick, holding it next to the color chart. "And holy shit is it overcompensating! I feel like I should make some kind of joke."

"Less admiring my piss, more diagnosis, Doc," Dean quips back, fanning the air to try and appear nonchalant. Her smirk lets him know he's not getting away with it.

"Basically, Dean, you're producing a ridiculous amount of estrogen, which means all your baby-making instincts and facilities are gonna go into overdrive. _All of them_."

Dean frowns. "But…I'm still on birth control. It's not gonna fuck that up, is it?"

Charlie raises on shoulder in a shrug. "From what I can tell, at the levels you're making right now, it might not matter. _But_ don't worry," she says, raising a hand before Dean can have his full-on freak out, "almost ninety-eight percent of submissive Angels know the _minute _they get pregnant, so if you don't feel it now, chances are you've dodged a bullet. You might want to wait for sex until you're sure, though."

Dean swallows again. His palms are getting clammy just thinking about it – God, what if his hormones _did _override his birth control? Fuck, he's not ready to be a father, definitely not. It had taken so long to get this far with Cas and now he's fucked it up again and _shit. _"What -. What about the other stuff, Charlie?"

She raises an eyebrow. If Dean's using her actual name and not some colorful moniker he must be freaking out. "There are stabilizers I can give you to try and regulate it, but I'd really suggest not doing it because at the rate you're going, you might do something too drastic – it might mess up your body for good. As to the rest of it, it might explain why you suddenly turned tail at the idea of mating again. Females and submissive Angels often will reject a mating immediately after a heat, in the old days when paternity issues were more of a thing."

"Right." Dean remembers this – it's actually part of his Psych course, fuck, how could he forget that? His own brain was shutting down on him because all he could think about was the possibility that his birth control might not be working on him anymore because his body had basically had enough of his bullshit, and he would either have to take _more _drugs, or go back onto his old medication, or…

Shit.

"I have to talk to Cas about this," he murmurs, mostly to himself but he can see Charlie nodding. "Before I make a decision." Of that he was positive.

"Of course," Charlie says, smiling wide and standing, Dean following suit in a daze. "You have my number and you know my hours. I'd recommend doing it sooner rather than later. Not having sex for you might as well be a death sentence."

Dean tries to laugh, but he's not sure how well he succeeds. "Thanks, Doc," he says, tipping a weak salute Charlie's way before he walks out of her office, and onwards out of the building. His skin feels itchy, and whatever else is in the way today, he doesn't want to go home yet. He has nowhere to be until Castiel gets home later tonight – so, he stretches his wings out wide, and pushes down hard enough to fling himself into the air. It's been a while, but it returns as easy as anything when Dean catches a current and goes soaring.

* * *

"Little brooooooootheeeeeeeeeeer!"

The call is accompanied by several, loud, successive bangs on the door, and Castiel groans to himself while he manages to stifle his surprise, wings flared out in shock when he opens the door only to find himself with two arms full of his favorite brother. "Gabriel, how -?"

"Oh please," Gabriel says with a roll of his eyes, separating himself and walking into Castiel's apartment. "Real estate business, remember? I could get the name of anyone in this city if they rented through my company."

"You don't own the company I rented from," Castiel says wryly.

"I didn't at the time," comes the reply, as Gabriel steps into the center of the living room and fans his wings out, stirring up the air and getting a big inhale. He's scenting the room, and normally Castiel would be uncomfortable, but Dean is a maelstrom when he's upset and Castiel knows Dean can handle himself should Gabriel piss him off. As it is, though, Dean's not here, so Castiel has nothing to hide.

He takes the brief pause to regard his brother. Gabriel has grown a little outward, but not by much considering his usual diet. He's shorter than Castiel now – by quite a margin, the younger Angel notes with glee – and his dark wings shine with luster and strength. Gabriel's are peppered with flecks of gold and blonde on the underside, every blonde feather with a purple-blue companion to neighbor it, but the body of his wings share the same shining black as Castiel's do. He looks good, Castiel decides, all clean-shaven and hair slicked back. He's doing well for himself.

"You look like shit," Gabriel says finally, turning to look at Castiel with a raised eyebrow.

The younger Angel snorts. "My mate was in Heat and I had a fourteen-hour shift today. I'm exhausted," he replies with a roll of his eyes, heading over to the fridge to grab a beer for his brother, as well as the stash of pixie sticks he had thought to buy in preparation for Gabriel's arrival.

Gabriel's eyes practically glow with joy when he takes the proffered items. "Aw, Cassie, I knew there was a reason I loved you," he says with a teasing wink, taking a seat on the couch with his wings spread out wide over it. He breathes in again, giving a curious noise, and Castiel has at least the decency to blush because he hasn't cleaned the couch since he'd fucked Dean over it the night before their dinner party, and aside from opening the windows (which had immediately closed once he realized Dean was in Heat), there had been no real effort made into diffusing the smell.

If Gabriel notices, he doesn't comment. "Ah, so Dean-o has truly taken the mantle of submissive mate, eh?"

"Yes," Castiel replies, taking a seat next to his brother.

"Took him a while."

"It took him exactly as long as it needed to take him," Castiel replies curtly, taking a sip of his own drink – orange juice again, he needs the sugar to stay awake. "I have no intention of pushing or demanding anything before he is ready to give it to me."

"Why, Cassie, look at you." Gabriel gives a nod of approval, raising his beer. "I'd thought between Michael and Lucifer and their ruler-contests all the time, we'd fucked you up for good."

Castiel flushes a littler darker, biting his lip to stop himself answering. What he'd told Dean was not untrue – he is one of six brothers, all of them dominants and very much so. Dominance runs deep within his blood and his instincts. What he hadn't gone into was just how deep that ran – how much of himself he had lost to his younger years before fleeing his family (except for Gabriel) and swearing against the barbaric, majorist-minded shit that had been spoon-fed into him since he was a fledgling.

"At least there was one good egg," he concedes, nodding. "And a…well, a you."

"Hey!" Gabriel looks affronted for a moment, before he cracks a smile. "So where is this mate of yours? I'm absolutely _dying _to meet him."

"I don't know," Castiel replies with a shrug. "He's off today, but he had a doctor's appointment this afternoon. Perhaps it overran."

"Uh, Cas?" Gabriel points out to the clock ticking quietly away above the television, and Castiel narrows his eyes at it. _20:51. _"That's a little late for a doctor's appointment."

Castiel hums, sucking his lower lip into his mouth before letting it go with a loud sound. Then, he pushes himself to his feet without a word, and makes his way over to his phone which lays discarded on the kitchen counter. He sends a quick text to Dean to let him know Gabriel's here – _be prepared_. A moment later his phone chirps. "Dean's about five minutes away," he reports, because he feels like he has something to prove to Gabriel without quite understanding why. "He's gone flying."

The surprised note in his voice doesn't get past Gabriel, who laughs. "Flying, eh? Who knew you city boys flew anywhere anymore?"

Castiel doesn't answer – he merely sends another message to Dean saying that he'll open their living room window – which is the only one large enough to fit a fully-grown male Angel through from flight – and he does so, before returning to his brother on the couch.

They talk about many things after that – Gabriel's life in Japan, what brings him all the way to America this time, how's Castiel's job doing, how did that job interview -? What? Are you kidding? No fucking way! And did Gabriel ever break down and marry that Kali chick – Nope! Single as a slice of cheese, little bro. And then, finally, Castiel looks up at the sound of feathers falling heavy down someone's back, and moves just in time for Dean to climb in from the small ledge outside their window, first one leg then the other. He's caked in sweat – not dressed for flying at all, which means something drove him to the sky, stressed him out enough that running wasn't fast enough.

Castiel swallows, stifling his concern, and runs to meet his mate. "Hello, Dean," he says, soft-spoken and careful not to stress Dean out more. "This is Gabriel. Gabriel, Dean."

Gabriel – bless his soul – seems to understand Castiel's demeanor, because he doesn't do much more than half-heartedly salute from where he's sat on the couch, and Dean waves a hand in reply. He's breathless, wild-eyed, his irises almost entirely gold where they are not black from the low light, and it feels like he's touching Castiel more for support than anything else.

"Nice to meet you," Dean says, sounding strained. Castiel quickly looks his mate over – he looks tired, and sweaty, and his wings are shaking but that could be from the flight. "I'm gonna go, ah, shower." Dean's pulling away, wings pulled in tight to his back to shut off his oil glands and back and he almost flinches when Castiel reaches for him. "What were you guys thinking? Dinner out? I think dinner out sounds good."

"…Yeah, Dean," Castiel says, because honestly that does sound good and Gabriel is nodding along in agreement. "Don't be too long. Call me if you need anything?"

Dean gives a vague sound of assent, and is up the stairs and in their bedroom before Castiel can say another word. Silently, Castiel closes the window behind him as Gabriel gives out a low whistle. "Wow," he says, pursing his lips and nodding the way Dean had gone. "No wonder. Hell, I'd probably wait and control myself for _that_."

"What do you mean?" Castiel asks, confused.

"He's…Cas, couldn't you smell that?" Castiel frowns again, breathing deep, but it just smells of Dean – fertile, perfect, wonderful _Dean_. He nods, frown deepening, and Gabriel shakes his head, stifling an exasperated sound behind his teeth. "Jeez, you are hopeless sometimes. He _reeks_ of, you know, submissive-ness!"

"He always smells like that," Castiel replies coolly, though in truth Gabriel's close examination of his mate is making his feathers ruffle. "I suppose if you're not used to it you could -."

"Cas." The younger Angel stops, turning to see his brother holding up a placating hand. "I'm not saying I wanna jump his bones, alright? I'm just saying that…That I get it now." He shrugs, cocking his head to one side. "I'm happy for ya, little bro. You've…you've done it right, that's all I can say."

Abruptly, the tension melts away to affection and pride, and Castiel smiles, allowing himself to see Gabriel's words for what they are. He rejoins Gabriel on the couch, making sure that he can see the stairs from where he is sitting, and the two dominants sit in relative silence until Dean comes back down to them.

He looks even more beautiful, barely-dry and dressed in the usual jeans-t-shirt-open-button-down-over-that clothes. Castiel's mouth waters just looking at him, and he's sure his wings are giving him away because Dean is flushing, his wings curling in tightly like they do when he is trying to stop himself from answering Castiel's subconscious call to him. He walks over to the dominants, threading his fingers through Castiel's hair, and pulls his mate up for a kiss.

"Hello," he says, because he didn't say it before, and kisses Castiel again in a way that leaves the dominant Angel breathless. "So." He claps his hands together, rubbing them fast. "Who's in the mood for pizza?"

"That sounds awesome," Gabriel replies immediately, rolling to his feet, pixie sticks and half-drunk beer abandoned.

Castiel follows a split second later, hesitant and concerned for his mate, but when Dean smiles brightly at him, lacing their hands together and pulling them out of the apartment, he figures his questions can at least wait until Dean figures out that his big brother isn't the ball of junk-food-loving easy-going dominant he's posing as.

It takes Dean about twenty minutes to figure it out, and Castiel almost passes out from laughing.


	12. Trouble in Paradise

**Title: **Trouble in Paradise (Part of the Snapshots 'verse)  
**Author:** HigherMagic  
**Pairing(s): **Dean/Castiel**  
Rating:** NC-17  
**Word Count: **~4,500**  
Warnings:** morning sickness, references towards miscarriage, abortion, and pregnancy complications  
**Summary:** Dean is sick. Maybe pregnancy sick, maybe so-worried-he's-making-himself-sick sick. They don't know, but that won't stop Dean from freaking out.  
**Notes: **Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. OOPS I ACCIDENTALLY ANGST EVERYWHERE I'M SO SORRY.

Also for those of you on this lovely site who have things they want to yell at me for/tell me they're waiting for specific stories/wonder what the actual hell I'm doing all the time if it isn't writing, I do have a Tumblr you can follow me on under the same name. You can yell at me over there a lot quicker than here, I promise you.

* * *

Castiel doesn't know what to do when Dean abruptly begins to reject him. The dominant Angel has no idea what started it, or why, but since the night they spent out with Gabriel, his submissive hasn't touched him, hasn't let anything go further than a kiss at the door on their way to work or cuddling on the couch. If Castiel tries to take it further, Dean will shy away from him, wings locked down and face tight like he's doing his very best not to turn tail and run away. It makes Castiel feel as though he is somehow forcing himself onto his mate, and the very thought makes his fingers curl back and has him tasting sourness in the back of his throat – he would never do such a thing to Dean, but the submissive's behavior has him worried and his own instincts are getting harder and harder to ignore.

Dean finds himself shaking, swallowing back the taste of bile as he tries to catch his breath and curls his fingers over the edge of the toilet bowl. "Fuck," he whispers, pressing his sweating forehead against the porcelain, and closes his eyes and tries to breathe through his mouth so that he won't make himself sick again. Castiel had left for his shift four hours ago and isn't due home for another eight, so Dean had had the Saturday to himself to look forward to – get some time to himself where he doesn't have to fight tooth and nail against every stray desire rushing through his head.

It's been Hell, the past six weeks. Guilt eating him from the inside out has stayed his hand towards touching Castiel, but until he talks to his mate and tries to decide whether to switch his meds or any of the stuff about his hormones and shit, he can't risk having essentially unprotected sex and getting pregnant.

Though, bent over the toilet as he is and retching up this morning's meal, he's not sure that's his decision anymore.

Another urge hits him and Dean coughs out more into the toilet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand when he's done. He feels sick to his stomach, sweaty and sore from throwing up and he wants nothing more than to go to sleep. He can't be pregnant – he can't be. Submissives are supposed to feel that shit, aren't they? They're supposed to just _know_ – God, how fucked up did he get himself if he was pregnant and didn't know about it?

"Fuck," he hisses again, flushing the toilet and washing his mouth out at the sink. The nausea seems to have passed for now, but Dean still feels shaky and dizzy and the very thought of trying to get more food down him makes him want to revisit the porcelain throne. He splashes some cold water in his face, braced on the sink as he looks at his reflection.

He looks sick; this isn't the first bout of (he won't call it morning sickness) vomiting he's had, and he looks haggard and tired, thinning out just a little around the edges because of it. Not enough that he's dropped a size or anything, just a general pale sallowness to his skin that makes him look sick and worn. There are dark circles under his eyes from sleepless nights and his wings are messy and unkempt because he hasn't allowed Castiel to touch or groom him and Dean's own hands can only reach so far.

Dean knows that he has to talk to Castiel – there is a darkness to the dominant's eyes that says he won't stand by and patiently wait forever and Dean doesn't want to fuck this up. God, please, don't let him fuck this up. He looks down, wings falling in resignation around him, and breathes out heavily. He can't lose Cas – he won't. But he can't be a father either – he's not ready for it, not even close.

He feels stuck, but worrying himself sick won't solve a damn thing.

Looking up, Dean glares into the golden-ringed eyes of his reflection. "Fucking coward," he tells himself, grim twist to his mouth telling him his mirror image agrees with him. He should go to Castiel right now, sit him down and explain everything in a public setting; that way if Castiel freaks out at least there'll be witnesses and if Dean has to run then Castiel can't reasonably chase him. He can't be cornered that way.

He sighs, shoulders slumping, and turns around to shove the shower on, undressing and stepping inside.

* * *

Castiel barely makes it through the door before Dean's on him.

The dominant Angel stifles a rough, startled sound against his mate's mouth, wings flared out wide against the door and the walls in surprise, and Dean eagerly flattens them together to rub their feathers together in an intimate caress that makes Castiel shudder with want. He eagerly curls his fingers around the back of Dean's hair, twisting through his hair and holding him close as Dean kisses him, one thigh wormed between Castiel's and fingers nimbly digging underneath his scrubs to bare skin.

Dean is kissing him like he wants to burrow underneath Castiel's skin and never come out, with a desperation that is as alarming as it is surprising. It sets off alarm bells in Castiel's head, but then one of Dean's warm hands is wrapped around his erection, and six weeks is a long fucking time to be pushed away, and Castiel is thrusting into Dean's hand without conscious thought, before he can think otherwise, before he can gasp out Dean's name and ask him to stop. He gasps when Dean abruptly breaks the kiss, forehead falling against Dean's shoulder before that, too, disappears, and Castiel is left with the sight of his mate sinking to his knees in front of Castiel, free hand yanking Castiel's scrub bottoms down to get his cock free.

"Oh, God, _Dean_." The submissive Angel hums at the soft thud from above him, Castiel's head falling back against the door as he takes the dominant into his mouth and begins to suck. He closes his eyes at the feeling of warm, gentle fingers threading through his hair, Castiel's grip not guiding or demanding, merely resting against Dean. He can hear Castiel's breathing, harsh and loud above him, opens his eyes again to see the faint quiver of his dominant's dark wings, and it spurs him on – Castiel hasn't deserved Dean's secrecy and coldness, has done nothing but quietly accept his submissive's need for space and solitude and fuck, Dean doesn't deserve this. Not at all. But he's selfish and, damn it, he will keep it. "Dean, _fuck_, I -."

Dean hums, softly, again, just to feel Castiel shiver, and he gets a warning clench of fingers in his hair before Castiel is coming, Dean swallowing all of him down and moving his hand in firm, slow strokes to milk him through it. He waits for the soft tug on his hair to stand, tucking Castiel back in and pressing their bodies together against the door as Castiel's arms wrap around him, face buried in his neck while he tries to come back to Earth.

"That was…"

"How was work?" Dean asks, leaning down for another quick kiss before he steps away and goes into the kitchen. He can feel Castiel's stunned gaze on the back of his head and it takes a slow moment for the dominant to gather enough faculties together to follow.

"I… It was alright," he says, stuttering, brows drawing together in a way that makes Dean avert his eyes because he doesn't need this soul-deep staring shit right now. He already knows he has nowhere to hide. "Dean, what was – what was that?"

Dean smirks a little, snorting despite himself. "You'd think you'd know what a blowjob is," he replies lightly – too lightly – turning away to open the fridge and pretend to look through it for something to eat. Even the thought of food makes him nauseous, though, and he can still taste Castiel on the back of his tongue, so instead he grabs a glass and fills it with water and chugs it down. "You _are _a doctor, after all."

"Dean."

The submissive Angel sighs, closing his eyes, wings drooping to the floor in resignation. He knows he's stalling, but he just can't bring himself to say the words; can't bring himself to shatter this illusion of semi-normalcy because what if he has to change back his meds again, so he no longer goes into Heat? What if he _is _pregnant? God, he can't go back on either of those things – it's not fair to Castiel, it's not fair _at all_. He wants to be a good submissive for his mate, a proper one – Castiel has made him want to do and share things he never has before, and as scary as it was to dive in, it's fucking terrifying to think of having to climb back out of that now that he's here.

His hand is shaking and, with another soft sight, he sets his glass down, eyes lowered when he turns around and rests against the counter, arms folded across his chest. "Charlie said I have, like, ridiculously high estrogen levels right now," he mutters, not even sure if Castiel can hear him, and the dominant Angel doesn't say anything until Dean presses his lips together and rubs at the back of his head. He's dying to look at Castiel, to gauge his reaction, but he can't because if he does everything will come rushing out.

"Charlie?" Castiel finally asks.

"My doctor," Dean replies, unsure why but glad for the tangent. "I had that appointment with her last month."

"She's a woman?"

"Yeah."

"Oh." Castiel nods to himself, licking his lips, and looks away. "So. High estrogen."

"Yeah," Dean says again, mouth dry, voice soft, wings pinned tightly to his back in nervousness. "Apparently it's gonna fuck my meds completely up. She said I might have…that I _could_ have…" He swallows again, desperately trying to wet his mouth but it just isn't working. "So I haven't -."

"Dean," Castiel says, softly, stepping forward. "Almost ninety-eight percent of submissives know if they're pr-."

"I know." Dean holds up his hand to stop Castiel speaking; he can't hear the word, or this will turn into a full-blown freak-out. "I've…I've been having morning sickness, Cas. For about a week now." He can hear Castiel suck in a breath at that, and Dean closes his eyes, wanting so badly to turn away or run but Castiel is blocking the exit and he has nowhere to go and, fuck, he feels like he can't breathe. "I _can't_, Cas, I can't do it…"

"Hey, hey." Then suddenly Castiel's hands are on his shoulders and they feel so warm and Dean has to suck in a huge breath that's tinged with Castiel's scent, and it's like coming home, but it only highlights just how _wrong_ Dean feels inside. "Dean, listen to me." Dean shakes his head – he doesn't want to listen, doesn't want to hear reason or logic or anything like that. He wants Castiel to wrap him tight in his wings and tell him that they can get out of it or they'll handle it and that he's not leaving and -. "If it's been enough time that you're feeling sick, then it's enough time to take a test. I can go get one right now if -."

"Tests?" Dean demands, eyes opening as he bites out the word, pushing Castiel's hands off of him. "You think I haven't done that? That I've just been freaking out for no reason? I've _taken_ the tests, Cas – they don't say shit! Apparently my body's either so full of baby or baby-making pheromones or whatever the fuck it is that they just completely fuck up! One will say negative, another positive, another one just completely crapped out from all of it. I've taken enough fucking tests and I still don't fucking know."

"Dean, I -."

"And I _can't_," Dean whispers, suddenly out of breath like it's been punched out of him because Castiel looks so fucking helpless and Dean has no idea how to deal with that – Castiel is a rock, steady and unwavering, and Dean is the unreasonable mess. God fucking damn it. "I can't be a father, Cas, I can't do it."

The dominant Angel swallows, wings instinctively flaring out in instinct to wrap his mate up tight to comfort him, but the action makes Dean flinch, and Castiel forces them back to his sides. God, how could he not have noticed? He shouldn't have allowed this to go on for so long – he should have talked to Dean sooner about it. He should have fucking _acted _for once. "Why not?" he finally asks, when the silence stretches from tense to downright painful.

Dean's eyes widen. "What?"

"Why can't you be a father?" Castiel asks again, the words falling out of him as though they have a will of their own. "You'd be an amazing one, Dean – I have no doubt of that. Why are you so scared of it?"

It's the wrong thing to say, and Castiel knows it as soon as he says it – he hates watching the light close from Dean's eyes like that, the way his mate just shuts down and goes stony. He takes a step forward without thinking, reaching out for him, but Dean turns away and strides around him to leave. "Get the fuck away from me, Castiel."

"Dean, please, I -."

"No!" Dean whirls on him, then, anger evident in every line of him and it makes the dominant freeze in his tracks. Castiel knows Dean is strong, hardheaded and stubborn, but sometimes it is so easy to forget that only to have the reminder of it knock him back like a punch to the chest. "I can't even look at you right now."

"I'm sorry," Castiel says earnestly, rushing for Dean again and Dean lets his hands land on his shoulders but his face is turned away. "I didn't mean to push you – really, I didn't. I know you have your reasons." Dean swallows, saying nothing, and Castiel continues, somewhat relieved when Dean stops pushing him away. "Whatever happens, I'm here for it. I…I need you to understand that, Dean. I'm not going anywhere."

Dean pulls away, then, rubbing a hand over his face. "Yeah. Okay," he finally says after what feels like forever, turning towards the small flight of stairs that leads up to their bedroom. "I'm going to bed."

Castiel pauses, hesitating. "Would you like me to sleep down here?" he asks, remembering Dean's words from before.

Dean doesn't answer, but the bedroom door closes with an undeniable click behind him, and Castiel takes it as answer enough. He sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face and shaking his wings out because keeping them under such tight control around Dean had made them stiff and sore. He's exhausted, and his appetite has all but fled at the emotional turmoil now settling in his gut, so for lack of anything else to do he goes to the fridge and pulls out a beer, chugging down half of it in one drink.

He feels like there is a great weight settled on his chest now, curling around his neck like a large serpent. Dean might be pregnant – that should be good news, a manifestation of their love and devotion to each other growing inside of his mate's body. But Dean doesn't want a child – yet, maybe ever – for reasons as yet unknown.

Thoughts half-formed and dreadful float around Castiel's mind. Will he try to get rid of it? Give it away when it's born? What if something goes wrong – what if Dean gets sick, or the baby is ill – and Castiel ends up losing one or both of them?

He finishes the beer quickly and opens up another. No. There is nothing physically wrong with Dean – he's just worried, and possibly pregnant. But Castiel is a doctor and he knows all too well the power of the mind over the power and just how much one can fuck up the other. Dean might not be physically unwell now, but with enough stress and pressure from his own thoughts he might become so.

"Stop it," he hisses to himself. Whatever happens, they will deal with it – together.

* * *

Castiel wakes up with his face pressed against the couch cushions, a perfectly pleasant puddle of drool around his mouth, to the faint but undeniable sound of Dean retching. Almost immediately he is on his feet, wiping at his mouth to get rid of the line of drool, and hurries towards the closed bedroom door and into the en-suite bathroom.

He finds Dean moaning pitifully over the toilet bowl as another shudder racks him, as well as the unmistakable sound of more being added to the liquid, and Castiel grimaces in sympathy. Unsure if Dean still doesn't want to see him, he steps forward and crouches down beside his mate, warm palm flattening between Dean's shoulder blades and rubbing up and down his spine.

Dean goes tense, retching again, and reaches out blindly until one hand lands on Castiel's thigh, squeezing tight. Neither of them speak while Dean finishes, and Castiel stands and fills one of the small cups by their sink with water and hands it to his mate, Dean washing out his mouth and spitting that in before flushing the toilet with a small grimace.

"Think you're done?" Castiel asks, unsure if he's about to be sent away again.

Dean pauses, pressing his lips together, before slowly nodding. "I fucking hope so. There wasn't anything _to _get rid of," he says, grimacing again and pushing past Castiel towards their bed.

It smells more like the both of them in here, in a way Dean simply doesn't since he hasn't allowed Castiel to lay with him in so long, and Castiel doesn't want to leave the reminder than Dean is still his – doesn't want to go back downstairs where their smells are mixed with other things and where he cannot have Dean's warmth next to him, even if he is not as close as he would like. "Can I get you anything?" he asks, switching the light off and heading for the door anyway because as much as he wants to, he would never force his company onto Dean.

He pauses by the door, waiting to see if Dean will reply. "Just you," he finally hears, turning towards the sound of Dean's voice. Without the bathroom light he can barely see Dean except for his silhouette against their window where the air outside is slightly brighter and Dean is a black shape against them. "I -. Just stay, Cas. Please stay with me."

"Of course I will."

He practically runs to Dean, so eager to be next to his mate and touching him again that he cannot help but show his enthusiasm, earning a startled, short laugh from Dean that sounds like music to Castiel's ears. He feels Dean press his cheek against Castiel's collarbone and leans down to kiss the top of his head, fingers stroking down Dean's head and the back of his neck, wings curling forward just to feel Dean tuck his underneath, tight and safe and warm and exactly where he should be.

It feels like too short a time when Dean pulls back, feathers dragging against Castiel's the wrong way and forcing a soft sound of displeasure from the dominant Angel, and Castiel steps back, half-expecting Dean to tell him to leave again, but then Dean's fingers curl around his and tug and he's falling to his knees on their mattress and laying down next to Dean under the sheets, one large wing enveloping his mate and pulling him in again.

Dean sighs, pressing his face against Castiel's neck, threading their legs together, and for a moment everything feels perfect and normal and so damn right that Castiel never wants them to move again. "I miss you," Dean finally says, sounding wistful and young and Castiel's arms tighten around him.

"I'm right here," he replies, almost harsh because he means it and he's not going anywhere and Dean _needs _to believe him on that. "I'm right here, Dean."

"I don't want to go back to my other meds, Cas," the younger Angel whispers, like he hasn't heard; "I like smelling my oil on you. I want you to be able to smell me, and touch me like a normal submissive Angel. I can't go back to that."

It must be easier to talk in the dark, Castiel thinks, but he would give anything to see Dean's face right now. He closes his eyes and ducks his head to press his cheek against Dean's hair, one hand coming up to brush against his face in a soothing gesture that Dean leans into, craving the comfort and affection and warmth.

"You asked me if I had a big family," Dean continues when Castiel says nothing, and the dominant gives a small hum of acknowledgement – he remembered that night, right before Dean had suggested that he might be willing to switch his medication, and share his Heats with Castiel. The surge of love and amazement he feels at that memory makes his arms tighten further. "Well, there's me and Sammy. But there…" Dean breaks off, swallowing loudly enough for Castiel to hear. "There should have been more. There would have been more. But my mom had…problems."

Castiel feels like he cannot move, cannot breathe; he dare not do anything to break this moment, this awful story that Dean is telling him.

"One of them was almost, you know, ready." Castiel closes his eyes, swallowing hard. He cannot imagine. "I was seven. I remember her getting all big, and she'd just glow with happiness and then…" Dean breaks off with a heavy exhale, warmth spreading out against Castiel's shoulder feeling like tears and air and broken sound. "She didn't try again after that. That was the last one I know about – the last one they told us about. Mom and dad were big fans of, ah, celebrating early."

Castiel cannot imagine – he has five brothers, all of them healthy and without physical fault, though truth be told their emotional happiness could be better. Every pregnancy of his mother's was without complications and without drama. He cannot imagine something like that. "Dean -."

"I can't have one, Cas," Dean finally says, shaking his head. "Not until I…not until I can lose one. I can't."

"Dean." Castiel swallows, stopping himself. He can't let the urge overcome him to talk like a doctor – he wants to tell Dean not to worry, that miscarriages aren't genetic, that they happen or they don't for so many different reasons – but Dean won't hear any of that, won't _want _to hear any of that, so he keeps his mouth shut. "I'm so sorry," he says instead, kissing his mate's temple and hugging him tightly. "Whatever happens, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

"I need to talk to Charlie about my meds," Dean whispers. "I don't want to go back, but I don't want to take different ones or more, and I don't want to get pregnant either…if I'm not already." Castiel can feel the freak-out building, Dean's voice getting shaky and his wings are trembling.

He breathes out steadily, pressing his face against Dean's sweat-damp hair. "Eight weeks is early enough to determine the presence of a child through an ultrasound. We can schedule an appointment tomorrow, if you'd like. Know for sure in case your hormones continue to mess up over-the-counter tests."

He can feel Dean nodding, wings tucking in tight underneath his, the submissive's fingers curling around Castiel's scrub shirt because he hadn't been able to change yet, pulling him in closer until their chests are pressed close and Dean's head is firmly tucked underneath Castiel's. Castiel knows Dean will sleep restlessly if he does at all, but his fingers soothingly comb through Dean's messy, dirty feathers in an attempt to calm him down and lull him to some form of rest.

* * *

By the next morning, neither of them have slept a wink – too many avoided problems, too many 'What if's for Dean to have to consider and maybe face that Castiel's way of handling things might not be his own either. He's torn – he doesn't want a child yet, isn't nearly ready for one, but if there is one there, he'll be damned if he intentionally takes care of it and doesn't leave that up to chance. What kind of submissive father would he be if he did that?

He gives Castiel's fingers a gentle squeeze, pushing him up from the bed. "I'm gonna go call Charlie," he tells his exhausted mate, earning a low rumble. Castiel has nowhere to be today and for that Dean is glad – working a twelve hour shift only to come home to Dean's mess? Yeah, he deserved better, and Dean would be damned if he did anything but pamper and treat Castiel like he was the Prince of fucking Egypt because he's still here. And that's amazing.

Dean comes back several minutes later, waking Castiel again with a gentle kiss and running his nails across Castiel's scalp gently, earning another low sound of pleasure from the older Angel, dark blue eyes fluttering open to hazily meet Dean's. "Hey there," he says softly, smiling despite himself as he climbs back into bed with Castiel, knees falling either side of the dominant Angel's torso as he rests most of his weight on Castiel, idly catching one of his hands.

Castiel smiles back at him, looking somehow relieved and relaxed in a way Dean hasn't seen him since his Heat. "Hello, Dean," he replies, pushing up after a few moments, and Dean slides back to allow Castiel to prop himself against the headboard with Dean resting on his lap. The new position causes Dean to go momentarily tense, all-too-aware of just how they're touching and how long it's been since he's had Castiel inside of him; how wanting he is for it now even though he can't, he _can't -._

"Dean." Castiel's voice snaps Dean out of his dark spiral, the dominant Angel resting his free hand gently against the side of Dean's face. "What happens now is not important – if you are pregnant, I'll be here, if you're not, I'll still be here. I just…. Thank you for telling me."

Dean breathes out, nodding. "Given the situation, Charlie said she can arrange a consultation with me tomorrow to talk about, you know, contingency plans or whatever." Another deep breath. "Then the, ah, ultrasound later."

He bites his lip, looking down again. He feels like a terrible person, an awful submissive for praying with all his strength that the test will come back negative – that he won't be pregnant. He's just not ready for one. "Will you…come with me? To see Charlie?"

Castiel blinks at him, nodding immediately. "Of course," he says, pulling Dean close with his wings and pressing a chaste kiss against his mate's mouth. "When is the consultation?"

"Three."

"Alright." They have time. Plenty of it. For now.


	13. One Way or Another

**Title: **One Way or Another  
**Author:** HigherMagic  
**Pairing(s): **Dean/Castiel**  
Rating:** PG-15  
**Word Count: **~3,500**  
Warnings:** angst, talk of miscarriage and abortion, talk of planned parenthood  
**Summary:** Dean and Castiel go to Charlie's office, trying to figure out just what in the hell is up with Dean's body, and what they can do about it.  
**Notes: **I've given both Dean and Castiel a bit of a controversial opinion in this chapter – I'm not saying I agree or don't, I'm simply giving them their standpoints. I apologize if it offends anyone.

* * *

Dean was almost relieved to go back to his classroom. Sure, the clock ticking away was slowly driving him crazy and he was about two bad minutes away from smashing the damn thing, and the hour of three seemed to be like a distant dream and a horrible nightmare all at once, but it was easy to lose himself in the dynamics of his classroom – he loved his kids, loved those he taught and loved the fact that they wanted to learn this subject, wanted to learn from him.

"Alright, I'm not even going to pretend that the time we have on this topic will barely scrape the surface of the entire subject of _Human and Angel Sexuality_, but I'm gonna cram you guys full of as much knowledge as I can, starting now," he said, turning and drawing a cross on the board with four squares at each corner. "So, pretending for a moment that the gender quaternary is as simple and realistic as it sounds, can anyone tell me the four Angel genders that exist?"

He turned back around, looking expectantly for any raised hand. Finally one showed up. "Yes?" he asked, pointing at the human child who had raised his hand.

"Dominant male and female, and submissive male and female," he replied, assuredly, and Dean nodded, throwing him a grin and a thumbs up.

"Got it in one – it's like you guys actually wanna learn about this stuff or something." A muffled laugh met his words, and he turns back around to write the four classic genders of Angels on the board. "When it comes to humans, the basic way of telling the difference between men and women is the dangly bits – or lack thereof – between their legs. Again assuming that humans are so simple as 'men' and 'women'." He rolled his eyes, shrugging his shoulders at the thought, but unfortunately they didn't have time to go into the many variances and the entire spectrum that was human sexuality today. "With Angels, three factors generally have to be taken into account. Bonus points and no essay for someone who can tell me all three."

He wasn't really surprised to see significantly more hands raised at that question – lessening a homework assignment generally got him more responses, whether the kids wanted to learn this shit or not. Dean could relate; he had always done much better in a classroom than on tests anyway.

Scanning the classroom, Dean blinked when he saw a hand up that was seldom raised in his classroom – it was the same kid who had written the essay insisting that all diseases and even things like submissives going into Heat was all because of intense brainwashing and because of the brain's power over the body. It had been a fascinating essay, even if completely off-topic and a little far-fetched. Clearly the kid was very intelligent. "Yes, Max?"

"Reproductive organs distinguish between male and female," Max said, sounding almost sullen, his pencil rapidly tapping back and forth between his fingers as he looked at the cross Dean had drawn, and Dean nodded, going back to the board and drawing a line segmenting the male and female side, writing down 'genitalia' on one end. "The ability to bear young is a characteristic that only dominant males don't have."

Dean momentarily froze, shoulders drawing in at the mention of the very thing he had been trying very hard not to think about, before he swallowed and nodded. "Right," he said, drawing a right-angle around 'dominant males' to section it off and labeling it 'fertility'. "One more."

Max hesitated a moment, biting his lower lip between his teeth, before looking back up at Dean's back. "Oil glands?" he hazarded, and Dean grinned and drew a line between the dominant and submissive sides. "Submissives have two sets – one for grooming and one for attracting mates."

"Congrats," Dean said, capping his pen and turning back around. "No essay for you." The kid grinned to himself, silently pleased, and the rest of the class lowered their hands with barely-concealed looks of disappointment. "Those are the three main distinguishing qualities – of course, except for obvious situations, it's quite hard to tell an Angel apart as submissive or dominants for humans, or if that Angel is on suppressants or some other form of treatment to dampen their individual biology.

We saw in _Oedipus Rex _that Oedipus was inferred to have been a dominant treated like a submissive by his mother and wife. Aside from the obvious physical things he would have to hide, like his lack of secondary oil glands and no Heat, there would be certain mental tricks he would have either suffered or consciously employed to keep his wife out of the know."

"That's not _possible_." That was Adam – he'd been struggling with the subject since the beginning of it, and Dean could empathize. Until Sam had met Jessica Dean would have had no idea about those kinds of behaviors outside of what he'd had to learn for his degree.

He cast a sympathetic look towards the young submissive Angel, Adam's fingers curled tight around his textbook, eyes darting over the diagram Dean had drawn with a heavy frown between his brows. "I mean…dominants are, well, _dominant_. They don't have it in them to be anything else any more than a submissive can!"

Dean sighed, looking around the room. To one extent or the other, the students were nodding, or wearing expressions like they wanted to agree but couldn't bring themselves to vocalize it. "Adam, I'm going to tell you a story," he said, sitting down on his desk and drawing his pen between his fingers. "My brother is a few years younger than me – he's a lawyer in California, and a dominant." He had their attention now; any glimpse into the very private life of Mister Winchester was a rare occurrence. Already several of them had whispered about the new gold in his eyes and the luster than had been in his wings until six weeks ago, but none of them dared ask him about it. Dean wasn't _that _kind of teacher – he was passionate about his subject, sure, but his personal life and his professional stayed pretty much separate.

"He met his mate in his second year of school at Stanford," he continued, smiling despite himself because Sam had been so in love from the second he saw her, Dean couldn't help but love her too almost immediately. "They were officially mated less than a year later – he was and is absolutely taken by her."

He sighed again, standing up. "When I first met her, I have to admit I was a little confused, though. I mean, my brother – he's pretty much the paragon of dominant Angels. He's big, and hotheaded, and if you say one bad word about his family or those he finds himself protective of, Heaven help you." He grinned, earning another small laugh from the class, but Adam was still looking confused and Dean turned his attention to the younger Angel. "Her wings were…kinda coarser than I was expecting. But when I went to hug her, her wings immediately settled over mine."

There was a shifting within the classroom, and he smiled. "I guess the Angels in the room get why that's kind of a big deal. See, my brother's mate was born a dominant female – but she isn't one. She goes into Heat now, as far as I know, and my brother is as happy with her as I've ever seen him."

He turned his attention back to Adam. "So don't go around presumin'. Dominants can be hard-wired like submissives just as easily as some humans can be born into the wrong gender." Adam flushed at that, lowering his eyes from Dean's as he shifted lower in his seat. Dean understood the young Angel's confusion – it was something that was difficult to get your head around if you weren't used to it or had never experienced it before. "So it's entirely within the realm of possibility for characters like Oedipus, and real-life people as well, to behave the way the play implies."

"Like how?" A human girl asked that question. "I mean, I guess it's pretty obvious to you Angels, but how in the world does it make a difference?"

"It's small things," Dean conceded with a small nod. "When Angels were first 'discovered' by humans, humans had literally no idea how to tell the difference between a dominant and submissive one. And those names are actually kind of misleading – as we've established, it's not as clean-cut as that. The original title for them was _minor _and _major_, which translated into _small _and _large_. Humans basically thought that when Angels established hierarchy and mated and everything else, it literally came down to physical size and strength that determined who bore or sired the children." He paused at that, swallowing heavily, and turned to face the board to wipe it off in order to hide his expression and recover. "Of course we know differently nowadays."

"But how can Angels tell so easily?" the girl asked again, looking to her neighbor who was a dominant Angel female, who caught her eye and shrugged one shoulder, looking pensive. "Can you just…just see it, or something? Smell it?"

"Again, it's the little things," Dean replied, fanning his wings out slightly because he felt nauseous all over again, talking about this. Talking about dominants had gotten him thinking about his, probably waiting at home for Dean to pick him up so that they could go to Charlie's, go talk about…about the situation Dean was in, what might be happening to him. The sick feeling wasn't going away. "Any Angels care to try and enlighten the class?"

There was a moment of silence, then; "Well, there's scent," Adam supplied reluctantly, drawing the attention of the humans in the class. A few of the dominant Angels nodded along in agreement, causing Adam to flush a little and tuck his wings in tightly against his sides.

Dean nodded again, eager to try and distract himself from the thoughts pressing in on his own mind, and moved towards Adam's desk. "Yeah, submissives put out a pretty specific sweetness, especially when in Heat or during puberty." He lightly let his fingers brush Adam's shoulder, just to feel the teenager relax a little at the scent of another submissive, bright eyes following Dean as he made his rounds through the rows of desks. "Submissives also tend to be more tactile and sociable – that goes back to an instinct to try and protect themselves from unwanted mating or territorial disputes. A submissive was a lot easier to take down than a dominant back then, so like herd animals there was safety in numbers." He cocked his head to one side, pleased despite himself to see some of the kids taking notes, even though this was clearly off-topic. "However, it was also one of the causes of the old 'harem's tradition – if one dominant, or two, took down a whole pack of submissives, they tended to just keep them all and mass polygamy would take place because of it."

There were questions about that, he could feel them like a touch against his skin, but just then the bell rang, signaling the end of class. "Alright, everyone but Max, I want a five-hundred word summary of Chapter Eight on my desk in two days." There were a few muffled groans. "Yeah, yeah, bitch in the corridor."

He rolled his eyes again at the under-breath mutterings his words got him, hanging back as each student filed out of class. He glanced at the clock – it was fifteen minutes to three, and he had his appointment with Charlie soon. Even if there was good traffic they would barely make it. Maybe he should call and cancel. It could wait another day, right?

"Don't even think about it."

Dean visibly startled at the sudden voice, looking up with a guilty expression to see Castiel leaning against the threshold to his classroom, arms folded and eyebrow raised, and Dean blushed because he knew exactly what Dean had been thinking about. "What are you doing here?" he asked, gathering the textbooks spread out across his desk and trying to make it look like he wasn't just stalling.

"From the looks of it, herding you to where you're meant to be." Castiel held out a hand, his expression clearly telling Dean that he wouldn't pander to the submissive Angel's shit. "Come on."

Dean groaned, rolling his eyes again. "You're such a fucking control freak," he muttered, the amused twist to Castiel's mouth saying they both knew who had the control issues between them, but he took Castiel's hand and allowed the dominant Angel to pull him out of his classroom and towards the parking lot where the Impala was sitting.

"Have you been feeling sick at all today?" Castiel asked, a little too casually in Dean's opinion, but he let it slide, swallowing back the nausea at even thinking about it.

"Nah," he said, sliding into the driver's seat while Castiel took shotgun, glad for the reassuring rumble of his girl when he brought her to life. "It's been alright, actually. Class did a good job of keeping my mind off of…stuff."

Castiel nodded to himself, exhaling slowly. It felt like Dean was hyper-aware of everything he did right now; he hadn't expected Castiel to actually meet him at school – maybe he'd pick Cas up from the hospital, or they'd go to Dean's GP separately and convene in the waiting room so Dean could pretend that he was actually relieved to have Castiel there and not have to focus on hiding his worry.

He visibly flinched when he felt Castiel's wing pressed against his. "It'll be okay, Dean."

"You can't promise that," he replied. The traffic was unusually light, and all too soon he could see the ugly lime green roof of the building that housed Charlie's office.

"Let's not jump to the worst case scenario, alright?" the dominant Angel said after a long moment. When Dean parked, it seemed as though neither of them were in a hurry to actually get out of the car – there was no going back once they stepped inside. "Dean." Dean turned just in time for Castiel to catch his jaw with a gentle hand, drawing him in for a kiss and, stupid as it was, it did help to relax him somewhat, feeling one of Castiel's wings slide around his lap as though he would protect Dean from anything the outside world could throw at him. "Please, stop thinking so much. Let's go inside and figure this thing out once and for all."

Dean couldn't bring himself to verbally reply, so he nodded, lips pressed tight together, and shoved himself out of the car before he could chicken out.

* * *

"Oh Dean, you should have come to me _much _sooner." Charlie's voice was as sharp as Dean had ever heard it – unless he would catch her on the phone to her boss, but never with a patient had she been so disapproving. At least, not with him. "You must be Castiel, then," she added, reaching out a hand to shake the dominant Angel's.

"It's nice to meet you, Charlie," Castiel replied politely, removing his hand from hers to wrap around Dean's and forcibly pull him down into a chair next to them, one of his large black wings extending over Dean's shoulders in a reassuring gesture. "Thank you for seeing us on such short notice."

She shrugged one shoulder, grinning toothily despite herself. "Well, Dean's a favorite of mine. 'Sides, it sounded urgent." She fixed another pointed look at Dean, who blushed and lowered his gaze at the look. He knew if Castiel hadn't been here he would have shot a snarky remark back at her, but with his dominant present at his side he somehow felt a lot weaker, a lot less sure of his own responses. He could feel Castiel's worry in the warmth of his wings, smell it on him. He felt like he was choking.

"We can do a few more complicated hormone tests that are unavailable over-the-counter, if you'd like," she offered. "Might nip the need for an actual ultrasound." Dean flinched again at the word, wings curling in tighter to himself, and Charlie sighed again. She did seem genuinely concerned for Dean, which helped to put Castiel at ease. "Dean, I know you're not gonna like this suggestion, but there is another way to, you know, be sure."

The submissive Angel raised his eyes, a frown on his face. "Oh yeah? Like what?"

Castiel's wing tightened; he knew what Charlie would suggest before she said it. After all, he was a doctor too. "Force a heat," he murmured before she could, and she swallowed and nodded.

"Yeah. Submissives' bodies don't go into Heat when they're pregnant, so if one is forced while they are, the body naturally stops the growth of cells – and because there are other protections we could try to use during the actual Heat, chances are it would solve both problems until we find a more permanent solution."

Dean didn't reply straight away, as he looked down between his knees where his hands were lightly clasped. It almost looked like he was praying, and Castiel's heart broke at the sight of his mate so unsure.

"I am not," Dean finally said, voice tight and controlled, "going to do _anything_ that jeopardizes any pregnancy I will _ever_ have."

Charlie sighed, reaching forward to lightly rest a hand against Dean's knee. "I understand that with your family's medical history –" Castiel had a moment to bristle at that, that Dean would have told this woman and not him about something that had obviously had so great an impact on his life, but he tamped the feelings down. "- that you might be against it, but if you're not ready for a child then it's best to be absolutely sure you're not getting yourself into an unwanted situation."

Dean eyes were dark, his expression stony, and Charlie looked to Castiel for help. "She's right, Dean," the dominant Angel murmured, his wing tightening around his mate when Dean tensed up. "You told me yourself you're not ready to have one -."

"But I won't get _rid _of one if I do!" Dean hissed, turning on Castiel, their wings dragging apart roughly. "How could I look any kid I have in the eye knowing I'd killed their brother or sister?"

"Dean, it's not -."

"Don't." Dean stood abruptly. "Don't you fucking dare." And then he went for the door, leaving Charlie's small office before either of them could catch him.

"Shit," Castiel muttered, standing also. "Thank you for your time, Ms. Bradbury. I'm sorry -."

"Just go, Castiel," Charlie said, standing and smiling sympathetically. "If only this was the worst thing to happen in my office."

"Still." But there was nothing left to say, so Castiel quickly fled the office as well in search of his mate.

He didn't have to go far – Dean was sitting in the Impala, the car still off and silent inside when Castiel cautiously opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. Dean's fingers were white-knuckling the wheel, his lips pressed tightly together, and his wings were curled around himself as a barrier between him and Castiel.

The silence stretched on and on, until Castiel felt like he couldn't take it any longer. "Dean, I -."

"If you talk me into it, I'll never forgive you." Dean finally looked up, resting his head back against the seat behind him. He still wouldn't look over at his mate, and his eyes were bright with tears that he was trying to hold back. "I don't care if there's a forty percent chance, or a ten, or fucking one in a million. If I'm pregnant, I'm staying that way until my body decides otherwise. No one else."

Castiel sighed again, rubbing his hands over his mouth, arches of his wings drooping down in resignation. "Alright," he finally said, and if Dean was surprised by his easy surrender, he made no sign of it. "Shall I go back inside and schedule an ultrasound for you in a couple of weeks."

The submissive Angel took in a breath, letting it out slowly. "Yeah," he replied, fingers flexing on the steering wheel. "That'd be good."

"Okay." Still Castiel didn't move – he ached to reach out and touch his mate, hold Dean close and promise that everything would be okay, that nothing could go wrong, that there was a chance of this and a chance of that and they should prepare for it, but he couldn't bring himself to do any of that. So he settled for meshing their wings together briefly before he stepped out of the car and headed back inside.


End file.
